Fortuna Major
by olivieblake
Summary: She's with Ron, he's with Astoria, and nothing a cheap psychic on the Venice Boardwalk says is going to change that. Or will it? Dramione, muggle AU. COMPLETE.
1. Part I: Meet Cute

**Fortuna Major**

* * *

 **Summary:** _She's with Ron, he's with Astoria, and nothing a cheap psychic on the Venice Boardwalk says is going to change that. Or will it?_

 **a/n:** This muggle Dramione AU is based on an original story of mine called "Not a Fate Story" that is being adapted here for UnicornShenanigans, reader extraordinaire for whom I would do just about anything. The story is non-magical and takes place in California (mostly) with an entirely different backstory for the characters. They are being represented here independently from my previous works and may at times feel slightly out of character due to their altered circumstances. This story is meant to be fairly light-hearted and short (probably as little as 5 or so parts) and will be updated once a week. If you're following my longer Hogwarts AU, Marked, don't worry - the update schedule for that fic will not change.

I, of course, own nothing - these characters belong to the Great and Powerful JKR. Hope you enjoy!

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 _Part I: Meet Cute_

* * *

Hermione Granger frowned, impatient. She was loitering outside one of the public restrooms along the Venice Boardwalk, trying her best not to look homeless. It was an unusually hot day, even for Los Angeles, and she hadn't been expecting it. The oversized worn denim shirt that she'd thought had been so stylish was now tied frumpily around her waist, cutting her off oddly around her tissue thin A-line dress. Her white low top sneakers, which she wore without socks, felt damp with perspiration.

She looked down at the time on her phone screen and groaned. Ron's parents were taking _forever_ , she thought with a grimace, growling to herself with irritation. She felt a bead of sweat drip perilously down her back and she shifted, uncomfortable.

She checked again, swearing under her breath.

"1:30? _Un-_ freaking _-believable_."

She pushed her long, chemically straightened bangs out of her eyes – _totally inadvisable next time around_ , she thought for the hundredth time – curling her long ponytail into a bun. After hunting through her camel-colored leather crossbody and finding herself without a hair tie, she settled for an old trick from college, snaking her fingers around a smooth ballpoint pen and using one hand to shove it roughly in and around her messy bun, locking it in place. She sighed, the damp mass at her neck finally dealt with.

Hermione Granger was carnivorous, a Virgo (not that she believed in such things), a mid-20's legal specialist for a global poverty awareness non-profit, and she was in no hurry, thank you, so please stop asking if she had any kids. She liked to think she was wild, and refused to admit that she'd long ago been tamed. She was perhaps just below average height for a girl, averagely tan, averagely hungry, considering she'd skipped lunch. Long hair. Short fuse. Boyfriend: Ron Weasley, 5 years. Best friend: Harry Potter, 20 years. Dog: imaginary. Damage related to parenting/upbringing: minimal. Nose: acceptable. Breasts: none of your damn business.

She checked her phone again. _1:35 pm._ For heaven's sake.

Ron appeared around the corner and Hermione let out a swift, aggressive sigh.

"What – "

"Mom wanted to get a picture over there," he said, pointing and inclining his head. A former collegiate baseball player, Ron had maintained his wiry muscular physique nicely, and Hermione looked pointedly at the young bikini-clad teenagers gaping in his direction. His t-shirt clung appealingly to his chest, not immune to the unexpectedly punishing heat. His red hair, though, remained undisturbed by the salty ocean breeze. Hermione, who'd grown up under the sun and made a valiant effort to accomplish an aura that was pleasantly copper-toned, still struggled to understand how Ron managed a casual Southern California vibe despite his fair complexion. He was of paler stock, and yet it was likely she that was surely well on her way to owl-eyed under her matte wayfarer glasses.

"Well, are you ready, at least?" she asked impatiently, checking over his shoulder for Arthur and Molly. They had recently begun referring to themselves as "mom and dad" to her, at least by way of birthday, Valentine's Day, and Easter cards, but she found this a difficult practice to undertake.

"Yeah, they're coming," he assured her absentmindedly, running his fingers through his hair and putting a hand low on her back. She jumped as her sweat-sodden dress made contact with her skin.

"What?" he said, startled.

"It's just so hot," she complained, fanning herself.

Molly skipped up to them, her bright, round face glowing with pleasure.

"I just love these vendors!" she exclaimed. "But the smell . . . "

"Oh Christ, the smell," echoed Arthur, following glacially behind her and wrinkling his nose.

"Oh, that's just the weed," Hermione said gleefully.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Mione _loves_ it here," he said with an eye roll, his tone skeptical.

She nodded solemnly. "It has a great buzz." She snapped her fingers quickly, tapping Ron's chest. "Buzz! That's perfect. I should write that down." She began digging in her purse, looking for a pen, groaning petulantly as she realized she'd already secured it in her hair.

Arthur's eyes darted around, following the herds of eccentrically dressed wanderers. "Not really my crowd," he admitted, though he appeared nearly enraptured.

Hermione looked up from her purse, letting her eyes sweep over Arthur's conservative khakis and his quintessentially middle-aged New Balance sneakers. "True," she said simply, trying not to scoff. "Should we continue?"

They walked in silence. Hermione smiled pleasantly as she surveyed her surroundings, from the "$1 for Free Advice" sign to the glass-encased floral panels. She deeply loved Venice, for all its weirdos. It was the flaws that gave her something to love, after all. Something about it felt vaguely . . . magical.

"Excuse me," a man said, suddenly stepping into her path. His voice was a low baritone, colored with a sophisticated British accent.

He was accompanied by a tall, slender brunette, who looked perfectly comfortable in the heat and whose gauzy top seemed dry and breezy - not that Hermione spent much time looking at her; no. It was _him_ that caught her interest.

He was also tall, though not as tall as Ron, with fashionably slicked-back blond hair and an ivory complexion. Hermione could feel herself becoming slightly slack-jawed looking at him, for once in her life rendered insufficiently verbose. What was the word she was looking for – refined, perhaps? Sophisticated? That may have been due to the accent – or maybe not. The features of his face were sharp and elegant, and he looked as though he had a bit of broody nonchalance to him, like it might be enjoyable just to watch him contemplate life in the corner, just to eye the shadows on his face. He was – a word finally leaping to her mind – _exquisite_.

 _And slightly familiar_ , she thought, furrowing her brow.

"So sorry to bother you," he said, his pale grey eyes reticent as he lowered his sunglasses to look at her. "It's – " he stopped abruptly, turning to look quickly at the brunette at his side. " – Well, how do you even want me to say this?" He sighed, lifting his chin slightly. "Sorry, really. It's just - _she's_ put me up to this."

"It's quite a funny situation," his companion interrupted, wrinkling her nose as though she found his reluctance trivial. She seemed lively and good-humored, and she was British too. "Draco and I were just – "

 _Draco_. An alarm went off in Hermione's head. She did know him, she realized. _Everybody in the world_ knew him.

This was Draco Malfoy. He'd starred in a series of blockbuster films that she'd loved as a child and then later a teenager – one of those angsty series where children discover magic and then subsequently have to save it. In the films, Draco – or Leo Alexander, as his character had been dubbed – had been clean cut, impeccably dressed, and rather snobbish; in real life, his hair spilled over into his eyes and he wore a thin v-neck t-shirt paired carelessly with a pair of chinos.

" – We were just visiting a fortune teller – "

" – Just for a laugh, of course," he interrupted quickly, his hands raised as though he wished to physically prevent her from getting the wrong idea. "You know, one of those – "

" – And – oh Draco, you tell them, would you? I feel so foolish, and they're looking at us like we're absolutely _mad –_ "

This, Hermione realized, was Draco's longtime girlfriend, Astoria Greengrass. Hermione felt mildly ashamed of herself for knowing that, as she was fully aware she must have read it in some gossip rag at some point.

" – Right, right, fine – "

The two of them had been interrupting each other for several minutes when Draco finally laughed shakily and held out his hands in weary resignation, a cheeky, charming grin appearing for the first time on his handsome face as he regarded his companion.

"Okay, I'll get to the point," he said, sighing. "Astoria insisted we pay a visit to a psychic, who told me that I needed to meet someone today, and that she was wearing a blue dress precisely like yours, with, I don't know, shoes? And whatnot," he said vaguely, barely keeping it together. "Anyway, I thought to myself – what an oddly specific description? And yet – here you are," he said, as though he didn't particularly care for the way things had gone.

"Well hold on, Draco," Astoria interrupted affectionately, placing her hand on his arm. "There was far more to it than that – it's actually quite wild, she'd sketched it out for us – "

Astoria unfolded a piece of paper that had a light line drawing of a woman who did look very much like Hermione, hair in a bun with a shirt tied loosely around her waist, next to a barely legible scribble.

Ron tilted his head, straining to make out the letters. "Does that say H.J.G.?"

"Yes," Astoria said, "H.J.G. – does that mean anything to you?"

"Those are my initials," Hermione said hazily, speaking for the first time in this exchange. "Hermione Jean Granger."

At this, Astoria's eyes widened, her hand launching out to smack against Draco's abdomen. "No!" she exclaimed, delighted. "You really should go back and give that woman some more money, Draco, honestly – "

"My goodness," Draco replied, rolling his eyes. "The woman picks three random letters and draws me a little cartoon and suddenly you think we should pay her rent - "

Hermione was beginning to lose track of the situation.

"I'm sorry – what was it she told you about me?" she asked, shaking her head. "I mean – wait, can you just – start over, maybe?"

Draco put both hands up, an apologetic gesture. He was a surprisingly physical communicator, she thought. His hands and face and body were constantly in motion as he spoke, despite how aloof his expression had been at the start. Listening to him made her feel like she should lean in somehow to catch the subtext - as if he were inviting her on an adventure, but only he knew where they were going.

"Okay, I know, perhaps it's only funny to us – " he paused while he and Astoria shared a meaningful glance " – but we had a quick reading just about, maybe – what would you say, about half an hour ago? And anyway, the psychic drew this out for me and told me that this woman – " here he gestured to the drawing in Astoria's hands " – was my, well. My _soulmate_ , I suppose."

Ron put his arm protectively around Hermione's shoulders, a gesture that did not go unmissed by Draco.

"Oh no, _no_ no no," he rushed out hurriedly, "I'm so sorry – I should have been more clear – I'm not actually _seeking_ a soulmate, we just saw you and this one here," he gestured fondly to the brunette beside him, who was grinning wickedly, "thought it'd be funny – this is my girlfriend Astoria, and I'm Draco – "

"I know who you are," Hermione said awkwardly, the words feeling heavy and cold on her tongue. She was humiliated to think that this is what she was like in the presence of a celebrity – star-struck into complete idiocy. What happened to the Hermione who was witty, enchanting, carefree? The Hermione who had paired this delightful oversized shirt with her whimsical blue dress?

Draco's mischievous smirk did not fade, even with her admission. Perhaps he was used to this happening, to women throwing themselves at him . . . Hermione nearly shuddered, embarrassed as she was by her own behavior. She was finding herself far too distracted by his painfully good looks, his stormy grey eyes.

Ron extended his hand. "Ron Weasley," he said politely, "And you've met Hermione, of course." Draco took his hand and shook, a perfectly gentlemanly exchange.

"I'm sorry," Molly said suddenly, leaning in, "do you know Ron and Hermione from school?"

Hermione winced at this; how had it possibly escaped Molly's notice that there was now a crowd forming around them, and had been since Draco had removed his dark sunglasses? She knew for a fact Molly read _Us Weekly_ , and was irrationally furious with her for not employing her knowledge now. Was she really going to make him say it?

"No," Hermione said quickly, rushing to intercept Draco's response. "This is Draco Malfoy – from the _Alexander Chronicles_ movies, remember?"

Molly clapped her hands together. "Oh yes!" she exclaimed. "Hermione, you're such an admirer of those movies, aren't you?"

Hermione felt a heated flush come over her face. She had never been a particularly big fan of Molly's, but she certainly hated her at that moment. "Yes," she admitted, tight-lipped.

Draco, sensing awkwardness, made a surprisingly fanciful gesture and tipped an imaginary hat to Hermione. "Well, I don't plan to steal you away from your boyfriend – " he turned quickly to Ron, " – you are the boyfriend, yes?"

"Yes," Ron said a pleasant smile. He was generally unperturbed by the whole situation, which Hermione considered to be an insane lack of reaction. "I am the boyfriend, and these are my parents," he added, gesturing in their direction.

"So nice to meet all of you," Astoria said sweetly, as Draco put his arm around her waist and kissed her soundly on the forehead. She smiled up at him. "Darling, do you think maybe we should let them go? We are being rather strange, right now – "

"I'm to just let my soulmate run off, then?" Draco said with a smirk, refocusing his attention on Hermione. She shifted uncomfortably, realizing how disgusting she must look, cursing her bangs and her shoe choice and the eyeliner she was sure was pooling in the corner of her eyes, and there was nothing she could do to fix it. He was looking at her far too intently. "You put me through this terrible ordeal, Astoria, the least you can do is make sure she doesn't get away."

"We should do something," Ron announced. "Why don't we all meet up some time?"

Draco snapped his fingers as a lightbulb seemed to go off in his head, an uncanny recreation of one of Hermione's signature ticks. "My publicist set up a dinner tomorrow night at one of the new restaurants in Brentwood – maybe you two would like to come?" He looked back at Astoria. "It's tomorrow night, right?"

"Yes," she said enthusiastically, "Yes! You should come!"

Draco fished his phone out of his pocket, mumbling as he fiddled with the touch screen. "Hermione," he muttered as he typed, presumably to enter her contact information. He looked up at her abruptly and Hermione felt her heart jump, making unexpected contact with his exquisite grey eyes. "An unusual name, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said with a grimace, thinking of her mother's so-called _free spirit_ and fanciful love of Greek mythology. "I suppose."

"Couldn't forget it if I wanted to, then," Draco pronounced airily, stepping towards her and handing her the phone. Ron and his parents gravitated towards Astoria, who was animatedly asking them about their day.

Hermione put her phone number in quickly and then handed it back to him, his thumb brushing hers as he took it from her. Ensuring that Molly, Arthur, and Ron were all occupied, she focused on Draco's stunningly crafted face.

"I'm sorry if I'm being incredibly awkward," she said, embarrassing herself again with her own earnestness.

"Oh, you're not," he said quickly. "Given the situation, I think it's _my_ behavior that's much more suspect." He smiled rather beatifically, putting his hands in his pockets. "That's the trick with fame – you forget that most people don't like to be randomly approached when they're with family."

"Well they're not really family," she said quickly, "Though I see your point."

"You do seem a little on edge," he commented. "Not that I know you, of course."

"Well, you're certainly not wrong," she said, flashing him a smirk of her own. "You haven't exactly caught me at peak Hermione."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm probably not peak Draco, either," he said seriously. "I'd be horrified if you thought that gathering personal information from random women on the Venice Boardwalk with my girlfriend in tow was something I do regularly."

"You're right," she said. "Put into perspective, your side's _much_ more horrifying."

He considered her carefully, the slightest etch of a smile on his lips. "I think I'd like to get to know you, Hermione Granger," he said in his throaty baritone, and she smiled sincerely for what she realized might be the first time throughout the whole exchange, savoring a moment to let the oddly appealing sentiment float in the air.

"Likewise, Draco Malfoy," she said, biting her lip and fighting a blush. "I think that sounds doable."

They were smiling at each other and she sensed they were having a moment. Not that that meant anything; Hermione had moments with nearly everyone she met. It was, perhaps, more difficult _not_ to have a moment, when having a conversation with Hermione. She was exceptionally relatable – interesting, but non-threatening. Charismatic, but not polarizing. Magnetic, but not for long. A social chameleon of sorts.

"Draco – darling," Astoria called, "These lovely people need to get going – they've just told me they have a reservation – "

"Oh, Christ, right then," Draco said hurriedly, stowing his phone back in his pocket. He nodded at Hermione. "I'll call you, then?"

"Sure," she said with a shrug, hoping to maintain some sense of cool as they rejoined Ron and his parents.

"All set?" Draco asked, putting his sunglasses on and kissing Astoria's cheek.

She nodded. "So delightful to meet you all," she added cordially, beaming. She was very beautiful, Hermione grudgingly admitted to herself. The way she and Draco interacted was so classy, so appealingly _British_ that Hermione couldn't help but be impressed with them. If memory served, Draco was her age, if not some months or so younger, but he felt far more out of reach than that. After all, when she attended her first college kegger, he had just wrapped the final installment of the world's most successful film franchise in history.

"I quite liked them," Molly said at dinner. Hermione fought not to roll her eyes – Molly seemed to have taken on a slight affectation, like she was mimicking Astoria's lofty speaking style.

"Me too," Arthur agreed. "Astoria is a nice girl. Such a funny coincidence."

Hermione hummed her agreement, realizing with a pang how hungry she was. She felt her phone vibrate and pulled it out of her purse, noticing a missed call. She brought her phone to her ear surreptitiously, smiling as she played the sound of a now familiar voice.

" _Hermione - it's Draco, just checking in about tomorrow night."_ She smiled to herself as she heard him sigh heavily, like he was annoyed with his own enthusiasm. " _Sorry, I know you've just heard from me, must think I'm a bit of a stalker - I suppose the reality is I'm just wildly impatient, which is ultimately so much worse. I've got to verify the address with my publicist but shall we do 7:30? Hope that works."_ He paused again, his voice suddenly softening like he was admitting something against his will. " _Very strange thing, meeting you today,"_ he said, and she bit back a smile as Arthur looked questioningly at her from across the table. " _I quite liked it, though."_ The rest of his voicemail was rushed, as though he'd suddenly grown feverishly self-conscious. " _So yes, tomorrow, 7:30 – right. Talk to you."_

She played it again before she went to bed that night, listening to the airy patterns of his speech.

She called into the bathroom, where Ron was brushing his teeth. "Hey Ron?"

"Yeah, Mione?"

"Do you maybe want to watch a bit of one of the _Alexander Chronicles_ movies before bed?"

"Which one?"

"I don't know," she replied insincerely, as though she hadn't been thinking about it for the last ten minutes. "Maybe the second to last one?"

It was the one where Draco's character, Leo, had a very long, broody, "will-they-won't-they" scene with one of the female characters.

"I don't know, Mione," he said, after spitting into the sink. "That movie's so fucking long." She could hear him opening and closing the medicine cabinet, shuffling through his bedtime rituals. "I'm just really tired."

"That's fine," she said brightly.

She raised the phone back to her ear.

" _Hermione - it's Draco, just checking in about tomorrow night . . . sorry, I know you've just heard from me, must think I'm a bit of a stalker - I suppose the reality is I'm just wildly impatient, which is ultimately so much worse . . . "_

* * *

 **a/n:** next up, dinner. And a new Marked chapter coming sometime in the next 12 hours.


	2. Part II: Held Gaze

_Part II: Held Gaze_

* * *

"When you said you wanted to have coffee, I wasn't aware this is what you had in mind," Harry commented drily, though his green eyes flashed with amusement.

Their respective companies, both on the smaller side - Harry ran a tech startup that had recently launched a successful beta product - were on different floors of a coworking office in Santa Monica, and they often went on a walk during their lunch hours.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said from behind the curtain, struggling with the zipper of the rather stunning navy blue dress she was attempting to put on. "I _meant_ to just go for coffee, but I saw this in the window - "

"I know, I know," he said quickly, and she heard him take a sip of his drink. "You could really benefit from some girlfriends, you know."

She finally yanked the zipper to its highest point and clasped the dress together, eyeing herself from all angles. "You know most women hate me," she reminded him with a grimace.

She could practically hear his eye roll. "That's in your head," he said matter-of-factly. "And anyway, Ginny loves you."

"Oh, Ginny hardly has any choice in the matter," she said, wondering if the rather _creative_ placement of the fold over her abdomen was giving her phantom rolls. Why was fashion always so complicated? "I'm dating her brother and she's married to my best friend."

She and Harry had known each other since they were children, both growing up down the street in the same neighborhood and moving to Los Angeles for college. She had had some difficulty making friends her first year and he had been more than happy to introduce her to his freshman roommate, one Ronald Weasley, ginger extraordinaire: major undeclared, hair thoroughly tousled, hands perpetually in pockets.

Obviously that had worked out well for her. _Eventually_ , anyway. It hadn't happened with them right away, of course, though not for lack of trying on Harry's part (say what you wanted about the man, but he had a gift for bringing people together.) They were friends from the start, and when Ron's sister Ginny joined them a year later, they became their own little social clan.

By the time Ron had finally kissed Hermione, the aftermath of one of his fraternity events - two years later despite his _obvious_ crush, she would add emphatically, rolling her eyes every time she told the story - they'd already fallen into a comfortable rhythm. She and Ron, Harry and Ginny, nearly inseparable for as long as she cared to remember. She'd been Maid of Honor at their wedding last summer and everyone had assured her _It'll be you next, dear_ , and she'd smiled and blushed and snuck a look at Ron, Best Man, and wondered. It seemed inevitable. What had they been building the last seven years, if not their own kind of family?

She yanked the curtain aside. "I know you're not into doing this, but since you're the only one I've got at my disposal - "

"Whoa," he commented, his eyes sweeping over her. "This is for dinner with the movie star?"

"Draco, yes," she said impatiently, feeling an inexplicable heat rise in her cheeks as she said his name. "Do you think it's too much?"

"It's more than usual, that's for sure," he said, sipping his coffee with a casual, knowing smirk. "You're really going all out for this, aren't you?"

"No!" she said defensively. "I just - I don't have anything to wear - "

She faltered, because of course she had _something_ to wear. But most of her wardrobe was professional rather than suitable for a social event like this one, for which her usual style was hardly appropriate - and anyway, what if there were cameras? What if Astoria wore something incredible, and Hermione just looked like a tired, dated fool by comparison?

She sighed. If she were being honest with herself then _fine_ , Harry was right. She was feeling the need to go all out, but unfortunately, her real concern wasn't to look good for photos or even to outshine Astoria. It was Draco's attention she was concerned with - not that she'd ever admit that out loud.

Harry offered her a sympathetic grin.

"You look amazing, you know," he told her, nodding approvingly. "I should have opened with that."

She sighed loudly. "Not that it matters," she replied stiffly, tucking herself back into the dressing room and letting the curtain fall with a definitive swish. "I don't need to buy this. I'm being stupid."

"You're not being stupid," he told her affectionately. "But you are being . . . unusual."

"Unusually stupid," she grunted, wiggling out of the dress and letting it pool at her feet in a small pile of fabric.

She stared at herself in the mirror, sighing.

"What's this really about, Hermione?" Harry asked, and she heard him pick up a magazine and start to flip through it. "Hey, I'm a Leo, right?"

"Yes," she replied absently, trying to figure out if she needed a new bra. The lace on the one she was wearing was starting to fray - not that it mattered, of course. Nobody would see it. Well, Ron might, but he hadn't cared about such things in ages. She couldn't remember the last time she hadn't had to be the one to remove her own bra; he seemed to just find the whole process to be a nuisance. _You take it off,_ she would whine. _But why? You're better at it_ , he'd reply, kicking his boxers into a corner and motioning for her to get in the bed. _Come on. It's getting late._ "Don't bother reading that stuff, Harry. It's complete nonsense."

"Says the girl who's shopping because a psychic said she has a soulmate," he murmured quietly, and she rolled her eyes. "No," he said louder. "This is definitely accurate, it says here that Leos have great hair. I have great hair. That's a fact."

She threw her clothes on quickly and tossed the curtain aside. "You know I don't actually think he's my soulmate, right?" she said grimly. "I'm not stupid."

He eyed her skeptically, looking up from behind the boutique's copy of last month's _Marie Claire_. She fought back a laugh at seeing him, sitting with his legs crossed casually, absurdly relaxed despite being totally out of place in this very feminine shop. As always, he was the very portrait of patience. "Mm," he replied noncommittally.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious!"

He shrugged, his green eyes dancing. "I can see that," he said, quite unhelpfully. He was doing that thing where he wasn't telling her what he really thought, but was making it painfully obvious in other exceedingly irritating ways.

"I just don't have anything to wear," she said firmly, putting the dress back on the hanger. "But it's fine. You're right, I don't need this."

He stood quickly, putting his hand on her arm. "I'm just teasing you," he said amicably, gracing her with his reassuring smile. "Get the dress, Hermione. It looks great on you. Just - don't wear it tonight. Save it for . . . I don't know. Something more than just a normal dinner. Save it for something with Ron, sometime."

She bit her lip, smiling. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll save it. You're right, this is just a dinner."

"I know I'm right," he told her, linking arms with her and leading her to the cashier. "It's a blessing and a curse."

* * *

She'd lied, of course - what a joke. She and Ron never went anywhere. She was wearing the goddamn dress. " _Just a dinner_ " - like hell it was.

She flipped the mirror down from the passenger side, inspecting her teeth. "There's a valet," she told Ron. "Just pull up to the restaurant."

He gave her a look. "Valet?" he said skeptically. "You know I hate valet. I never have any cash to tip with."

She sighed loudly, exasperated. "We're already running late," she told him impatiently. "I have cash, it's fine."

"Maybe there's street parking - "

" _Ron_." She'd snapped at him; she looked down, embarrassed and apologetic. "Sorry. It's just - just do the valet, okay? It's easy."

"Fine." He glanced at her wearily. "You look nice, by the way."

"Thanks," she replied, smoothing the fabric on her lap. She felt her cheeks flush guiltily. "It's um - I just had it. In the back of my closet."

 _Why?_ she thought, panicked. Why had she said that?

Well. That was a stupid question, even for her. She obviously knew why. Ron came from an abnormally large family for southern California and they'd always had just a little less to spend than all of his friends, the typically aimless products of so-called Old Money who'd appreciated the finer things in life and instilled in Ron a natural opposition to them. To him, valet parking was pretentious, a new dress for dinner simply ridiculous. His relationship with money _did_ temper her spending, which was generally appreciated. At the moment, however, she wasn't exactly in love with the feeling that struck her as she sat there, her heart pounding anxiously, hoping he wasn't paying close enough attention to know that the explanation she'd provided couldn't possibly be true.

Oh, but he wasn't paying attention, of course. Ron was nearly always oblivious to her wardrobe. It sounded terrible to put it that way, even in her head, obviously, because it was generally such a nice thing in her life, wasn't it? She never had to worry what she looked like. Being with someone like Draco Malfoy, well. That would be exhausting, wouldn't it?

"Cool," he said happily, pulling up to the restaurant.

7:40. Her heart fluttered. They were late. She tried to look cool, casual. Breezy. Everything that she, inherently, was not. Ron took her hand and she smiled at him, letting out a shaky breath.

"Nervous?" he asked cheerfully.

"Oh, you know me," she said, trying to be funny. "Can't take me anywhere."

"That's true," he said with a laugh, and though she'd clearly set him up for the joke, she found herself displeased with his answer.

The host led them to the back of the small Italian restaurant, every aspect of the space clearly conforming to Brentwood's typical design expectations - it was intimate, dimly lit, with high ceilings and a wall of fashionably exposed brick that was just par for the course around here. She saw Astoria first; the pretty brunette had her back to them but turned quickly as she heard footsteps.

"Hermione!" she said, her tone bright but gracious like she was welcoming them to her home. Astoria was wearing a tastefully cut little black dress that made Hermione sigh with relief at the outfit she had chosen, knowing anything else she owned would have been far too casual when compared with the other woman's effortless refinement. "Ron, so wonderful to see you again."

As Astoria rose to give her a hug, Hermione caught sight of Draco, sitting back in his chair with his fingers resting on the sides of a small glass. Scotch, probably, Hermione thought. He seemed the type, just as he seemed the type to have an aperitif before dinner. Not that she knew him in the slightest, of course.

She thought she saw him light up when he caught sight of her, a spark briefly appearing in his shadowy grey eyes. She'd probably imagined it.

"Happy to see you," he said coolly in her ear, giving her a brief hug and gesturing to her chair. He smelled somehow both masculine and sweet, like clean laundry and aftershave, and his dark collared shirt was left unbuttoned just enough to be visually inviting, drawing her glance momentarily to his chest. "Sorry again about the short notice. How was your day?"

"Oh, you know," Hermione said briskly, gingerly taking a seat. The four of them each occupied one side of the small square table, Hermione across from Astoria and next to Draco. "The usual. Work."

Astoria laughed regally. "You'll have to be more specific," she said with a mischievous smile. "We, unfortunately, are a bit spoiled with not knowing how that goes."

"Well, that's not entirely true," Draco corrected irritably, his expression darkening.

Astoria patted his arm. "No, no, darling, we know, I'm just teasing," she said quickly, though Hermione sensed that was a sensitive subject, or at the very least, indicative of a conversation that had been had many times. "Really though," Astoria said, turning her attention back to Hermione and Ron. "What do you two do?"

"I teach junior high," Ron said, reaching for a piece of bread. "And I coach the baseball team. Mione works for a non-profit."

"Really?" Draco asked, looking at her with interest. "Which - "

"You're a teacher? That's adorable!" Astoria interrupted, clasping her hands together excitedly. "What do you teach?"

"English," he said after a moment, swallowing. "I'm fluent."

Hermione fought back an eye roll. This was one of Ron's usual jokes. Astoria, though, lucky enough to be hearing it for the first time instead of the thousandth, enjoyed it immensely, her warm, delicate laugh filling the air.

"That must be quite an adventure!" she exclaimed happily. "Do you have any stories?"

"Do I have stories?" Ron echoed. "Honey, I have nothing _but_ stories. Today, in fact, one of my seventh graders came to my classroom for office hours - "

Hermione tuned him out, as she often did when he came home with stories. The antics of pre-pubescent children could only occupy her attention for so long. Instead, she let her eyes wander over to Draco, who was frowning slightly. She realized he was skimming an email from where he held his phone in his lap, a grim, unpleasant scowl casting a shadow over his handsome face.

"Sorry," he said brusquely, tucking the phone back into the inner pocket of his jacket. "Didn't mean to be rude." He signaled to their water. "A bottle of the house red, please?"

"Oh, I'm sure you're very busy," Hermione said politely. He did seem unhappy - so far, so disappointing.

"I'm not, actually," he said with a grimace. "That's part of the problem. Unfortunately."

"Oh?" she said delicately, not wanting to pry.

"My agent," he replied shortly. "He's - a bit pushy." He paused as the waiter arrived, pouring a bit of wine into his glass. Draco picked it up, swirled it expertly in his hand, held it to his nose, then to the light, and then took a sip, letting it linger on his tongue. Essentially, everything you were _supposed_ to do when wine arrived at the table, though Hermione had never known why. "It's very good, thank you," he said to the waiter, nodding.

"Pushy?" Hermione repeated, watching the waiter pour her a glass.

"I . . . haven't really done much since the _Alexander Chronicles_ ," Draco said flatly. "Not for lack of effort on his part."

"Why not?" she asked, trying to be casual, though she'd already known this. She'd actually checked his IMDB page earlier that day, and noted with interest that he had nothing in production.

"I don't know," he said briskly, not meeting her eye. "I just - " He sighed. "I just kind of want to do something meaningful, you know?"

Astoria looked over, catching their conversation. "Oh, darling, really," she said reassuringly. "What you do is extremely meaningful, I've told you countless times - "

"I bring smiles to millions, yes, I know," Draco said sarcastically, his lips forming a tight-lipped grimace. "I know." He turned to Hermione, clearly eager to change the subject. "Tell me about what you do."

"Well," she started, feeling a bit uncomfortable after the stiff exchange between Draco and his girlfriend, "I work for an organization that provides legal assistance to companies working to end global poverty." She swallowed, finding it all very clinical and unimpressive. "I'm a lawyer, technically, but I didn't want to go directly into law - all my friends were going into transactional work for big firms but I couldn't do it." She sipped her wine quietly. "I can't explain it, of course. It's just - my heart wasn't in it."

"I understand completely," he said adamantly. "Astoria's father is a rather famous director, you know" - Hermione did know, having recalled this from an article she'd read; Astoria was a bit of a socialite, due to her family's sphere of influence - "and he's been pressing me to start a new project, but I was really just a child when I decided to be an actor. And now I'm an adult, and I just . . . I'm just not sure how much I'm actually _producing_ , in terms of bringing something worthwhile to the universe."

Hermione bit her lip, nodding. "I can see that," she said with a shrug. "That was essentially my thought, when I decided to go into a non-profit instead of a firm."

"It's an admirable choice," Draco said vigorously. "More than admirable. Something to aspire to."

"It's hardly akin to being a movie star, of course," she said quickly. "But my motivating thought was just - " She stopped, hesitating. "It sounds silly," she admitted. "But I'd just like to do some good in the world."

A flicker of excitement suddenly appeared in his pensive grey eyes. " _Yes_ ," he breathed. "Yes, _yes_ , that's exactly it!"

Astoria looked up briefly from her conversation with Ron. "Oh _dear_ ," she said regretfully, her laugh ringing daintily like a tiny, musical bell. "You've no idea the extent of the floodgates you've just opened."

"Is this an opening to the 'save the world' conversation?" Ron asked, grinning. "Oh, Mione's favorite."

Draco ignored them both. "You know, people always think I've done something special with my life," he said, his tone reeking of the implication that he very much doubted that. "But the reality is, I was in some very successful movies as a child and now I'm an adult and I need to make sure my next step is somehow . . . I don't know. Important."

"I know what you mean," Hermione said, nodding, noting that Astoria and Ron had already slipped back into their conversation about a movie they'd seen, or whatever it was they were discussing. "I want my work to have some kind of impact."

"Right," he said emphatically, though he instantly reverted into a more formal version of himself, backtracking. "Of course, I don't want to downplay the _Alexander Chronicles_ at all, I was so grateful to be a part of it - "

"It's okay," Hermione said, putting her arm gently on his shoulder. "You can tell me what you really think and I promise, I won't run off and sell it to the tabloids."

He laughed, running his tongue over his lips anxiously. "Sorry," he whispered, locking eyes with her. "Force of habit."

She let her gaze linger for a moment, but withdrew her hand quickly.

Too intimate.

"Astoria's father is always getting me to do charity work with him," Draco said, louder. "And charity's all well and good, of course, but it's hardly enough."

"Understandable," Hermione replied evenly. "Though it's commendable that you make any effort at all, honestly."

"I'm in awe of you, really, and people like you," Draco said grimly, taking a sip of his wine. "I know it sounds stupid to say. But you have a purpose, you know. A calling."

She smiled hesitantly. "You make that sound very grand," she said wistfully. "But I do think that in real life change is made in little, marginal increments, you know? I mean, my organization is really quite small. But if I can come home feeling like I made the world just a little bit better for someone, that's enough."

"That's really what I've been trying to explain to Astoria," Draco said, leaning in. "Having money and influence is all well and good, but if I don't do anything with it - "

He stopped suddenly. "I've just had an idea," he pronounced. "Are you free Thursday?"

"Thursday?" she echoed dizzily. "Well, I have work, of course - "

"No, no, after work," he said hurriedly. "There's a fundraising dinner I've agreed to attend, and rumor has it that Kingsley Shacklebolt's seated at my table - "

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," she repeated, her jaw falling open. "The philanthropist? Former mayor of London?"

"That's the one," he said, grinning. "I've met him a few times. I think he'd love you, honestly, and maybe he'd have an opportunity for you. If you're interested."

"I - really?" she asked, incredulous. "You'd really want me to go?"

"Of course," he said, furrowing his brow as though her concern was the most ridiculous thing he'd heard all night, and possibly ever. "What would he want with me? I don't know anything. I'm an actor, everything I know I learned from a low-grade tutor in my trailer when I was falling asleep from shooting all day. And anyway, Astoria hates these things."

Hermione snuck a glance at Astoria, who was now animatedly describing a spill she'd once taken while vacationing in the Andes. "You're sure she won't mind?"

"I'm positive," Draco said flatly. "She honestly can't understand why I go to them."

"Why _do_ you go to them?" Hermione asked curiously. "Shouldn't you be - I don't know, off clubbing or something?"

"You mean that's where we washed-up child actors belong?" he asked, raising a polished brow. "At a club?"

"No," she said quickly, aghast, but he interrupted her, laughing.

"I'm only joking," he told her, and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "I go to these things just hoping to find people who are doing something interesting with their lives, something worthwhile. People like you, honestly." He lifted his glass to his lips and smiled. "Little did I know all I had to do was go talk to a psychic at the beach."

"Probably cost a bit less than the dinner," she told him, and he touched his glass to hers.

"Hear, hear," he agreed, taking a sip. "So you'll come with me?"

She hesitated. Would Ron mind?

She looked up to see him pointing out a scar on his chin, one he'd gotten while skateboarding as a child. It was a story he loved to tell and Astoria clapped her hands together serenely, clearly delighted with the anecdote. Hermione didn't want to interrupt; besides, this was hardly the conversation to have here.

And anyway - she would _really_ be doing it for her career, wouldn't she? It was hardly personal. Nothing whatsoever to do with Draco. Or how good he probably looked in a suit.

"Yes," she said quickly, nodding. "Yes, I'd love to."

"Perfect," Draco declared, touching his glass to hers once more. "Thank goodness for soulmates."

She laughed, the wine settling happily into her stomach. "Such ridiculous circumstances, honestly. As if a fortune teller can be counted on for that."

"Agreed," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "The whole thing is utter rubbish."

"Mmm," she murmured vehemently, downing the remainder of her glass.

"By the way," he said casually, his pinky grazing hers as he set his glass down - on the wrong side of his plate, she noted, wondering if it had been intentional. He seemed the type to know where to put his glass. "You look lovely."

She practically snorted with derision. "Right," she said dubiously, and he laughed.

"You do," he told her firmly. "And it's nice to be around someone natural. And thoughtful," he added. "I almost never get to have conversations about anything interesting."

"Oh, I don't know about interesting," she said carelessly. "My work can be quite tedious. And Ron's always begging me to stop talking, honestly."

"Pity," Draco said, letting his grey eyes linger for a moment on hers.

He was stunning. Truly, he was.

"Are you ready, miss?" the waiter asked, and Hermione jumped.

"Um," she said, confused. "For what?"

"Been talking Draco's ear off instead of looking at the menu, I expect," Ron said with a laugh, and Astoria smiled, taking Draco's hand.

"Draco's the same way," she said fondly. "I'll go first, darling, don't worry - "

The rest of dinner went smoothly, and conversation flowed effortlessly. Draco's mood was much improved, and Hermione found herself finally able to relax. Perhaps not yet reaching peak Hermione, but relaxed enough, and there would surely come a time for that. Ron didn't even grumble at the valet stand. Overall, a top evening altogether.

"Sex?" she asked that night, brushing her teeth.

Ron looked at her thoughtfully. "Maybe tomorrow," he said, shrugging. "Tired."

She went into the bathroom, spitting out the toothpaste and wiping her mouth on her monogrammed hand towel. Fair enough.

"That's fine," she said, returning to their bedroom and crawling into bed next to him. "Tomorrow's fine."

"Tomorrow, I promise," he said, leaning over to kiss her forehead before flipping over onto his side, turning his back to her. "Love you, Mione."

"Love you," she said, closing her eyes.

Her phone buzzed and she reached over, tucking the brightly lit screen under the blanket so as not to disturb Ron.

 _Thoroughly enjoyed dinner with you. Looking forward to Thursday._

She smiled.

 _See you then, Draco._

* * *

 **a/n:** This one's for Neakco. The original story was never completed, or I'd let you read it. One downside to the adapted version of this story is that this exchange, which would have occurred in the next chapter, no longer exists:

" _Give me one minute, would you?" he said quickly, setting his napkin on the table. "Bathroom."_

" _You mean you're off to the loo?" she asked whimsically, mimicking his British accent._

 _He gave her a look. "I've lived here for five years," he reminded her airily. "I didn't just hop off the Hogwarts express."_

Next week: "Part III - Everyone Can See It."


	3. Part III: Everyone Can See It

_Part III: Everyone Can See It  
_ _(Subtitle: Unresolved Sexual Tension)_

* * *

He looked so good it almost made her stomach hurt.

"Nervous?" he whispered in her ear, gently placing a hand low on her back to steer her towards their table.

She tried not to shiver at his touch. "A little," she admitted. "I just feel so . . . small and unimportant. I mean, look - " She gestured to their left. "Is that Pansy Parkinson? The actress?"

He smiled. "Yes," he said, nodding. "She's an old friend. Well, more of a former coworker, really. I'll introduce you later, if you want."

Hermione blushed, and immediately hated herself for it. She had already disappointed herself on _so_ many levels when it came to maintaining any kind of level-headedness among present company. "Sure," she said, making a flimsy attempt at nonchalance. "If we have time."

Draco seemed to see through her terrible effort. "Don't be impressed with Pansy," he told her. "She's a menace." Hermione laughed and he seemed to revel in it, pulling out her chair for her and making a sweeping gesture for her to sit. "Your seat, my lady."

"Thank you, kind sir," she said, flashing him an exaggerated look of gratitude. "Such a gentleman."

"That's my mother's doing, I'm afraid," he said airily. "By nature I'm really much more of an incorrigible rapscallion."

She laughed. "I don't believe you," she declared wryly, shaking her head.

He leaned towards her. "You shouldn't," he murmured, his voice quiet but playful. "I'm making an attempt at humility, but you were right the first time. I'm actually posh as _fuck_."

Someone else arrived at their table and Hermione had to force herself to smother her laughter and slow her breathing, distracted as she was by Draco's lips near her ear.

"Ah, Kingsley," Draco said, rising to his feet. He very carefully touched Hermione's shoulder, a gentle indication that she should stand; normally she would have found such a gesture patronizing, but under these circumstances, she was relieved to have him keeping her to the unspoken social niceties. "So wonderful to see you again."

"Draco," the older man said kindly, inclining his head in salutation. "It's been a long time."

"Quite," Draco agreed. "This is Hermione Granger - I've been looking forward to introducing you two since I discovered you'd be attending this dinner."

Draco really was so effortlessly well-mannered; his social graces were impeccable, and he seemed to have no trace of awkwardness in the slightest, despite what Hermione knew to be his own insecurities about the state of his reputation and career. He was, in short, a natural.

"Hermione, is it?" Kingsley repeated, turning to her and gripping her hand respectfully. "A pleasure."

"It certainly is," she said, trying to channel Draco's enviable finesse. "I've been following your work for quite some time and I have to say, it's an honor to meet you."

"An American following my work?" he asked, his eyes sparkling. "I assume, then, that given your distance, you can't be _too_ upset with my transportation policies while I was London's mayor." He glanced quickly at Draco. "May I presume that won't arise this evening?"

"Provided that you can ignore the coincidental timing of my exit from the U.K. with the rise in opposition to said policies, then certainly," Draco replied loftily, though the corners of his mouth tugged up slightly in an impish smile.

Kingsley, in turn, responded with a deep, throaty laugh. "Our national treasure," he said to Hermione, gesturing to Draco.

She smiled. "He really is a high quality export," she agreed, nodding.

Draco made a brief gesture of humility, his hands raised. "Enough about me," he said quickly. "Hermione's the interesting one. I think you'll find her work quite fascinating, Kingsley."

"Oh?" he asked, leaning towards her. "What do you - "

"Here," Draco said, standing. "Hermione, take my seat, will you? I don't want to get in the way." He stood back gallantly, gesturing for her to pass him, and she tried not to think about her proximity to him as she did. "Better to let the more enviable minds commune."

She found that conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt, despite his rather foreboding physical presence - or was it just his lofty, rumbling voice? - was a kind and nurturing conversationalist; his questions about her work were thorough and authentic, and he seemed genuinely engaged in the discussion.

"I can't believe you've let me go on about this for so long," she said after several minutes, realizing she'd been monopolizing conversation. "I'm so sorry, you must be bored to tears."

"Nonsense," he said, waving away her concerns. "You've clearly got a bright future, Hermione. I'm sure one day I will be telling the story of how I met one of the most influential minds of a generation at an innocuous fundraising dinner, when she was only just starting out."

She fought a furious blush. "That's . . . high praise," she managed. She had never been very good at managing compliments.

"I won't lie to you," Kingsley said casually, sipping his glass of Bordeaux. "I like to think myself a bit of a kingmaker. Have you ever considered running for public office?"

"I hadn't," she said slowly, her mind instantly screaming with excitement. She couldn't wait to tap Draco on the shoulder and tell him everything Kingsley had said - _he thinks I should run for office, can you believe it? -_ but until then, she'd have to try to control her utter triumph at the impression she was making.

"You should," he told her, eyeing her sternly. "The world needs more people like you involved in governance."

"Oh, I don't know," she said, rather breathless. "I don't think my boyfriend would be too thrilled with the idea, to be honest."

He certainly wouldn't. Public appearances were hardly Ron's cup of tea.

"No?" Kingsley asked, surprised. "Draco seems rather politically minded. Certainly philanthropically, at the very least."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly uncomfortable. "Oh, no - sorry for the confusion," she said, her cheeks flushed. "Draco is just a friend - "

"Ah, well," Kingsley said, shrugging. "A pity. You could go a long way, together. Though I'm sure your boyfriend is a very lucky man, in any case."

It seemed there was no end to the vibrancy at which she could blush. "You're very kind," she murmured, in what she considered to be an exceedingly gracious tone.

He frowned. "I'd like to think I'm considerably less kind than I am shrewd," he told her frankly. "My interest in your career is rather self-interested, I must admit. To be perfectly honest, I think I could benefit by keeping a rising professional like you around my work."

"Really?" she asked, rather astounded.

"Yes," he said curtly. "In fact, I am looking for someone with a mind like yours to help run one of my more recent projects." He paused, seeming to give it a little more thought. "I think you would be an ideal candidate."

"You think so?" Hermione squeaked, then cleared her throat. "I mean, I'd love to hear more about your work, if you think there's a place for me."

He nodded, seemingly piecing things together in his head. "Yes, I think there is an ideal project for you," he noted. "Or rather, that you would be an ideal fit for the role I have in mind." He pulled out a business card, placing it in front of her. "Send me your curriculum vitae, would you? I'll have my board take a look at it."

She picked up the card, feeling like she was holding the Holy Grail between the tips of her fingers. "Wow," she said, finding it difficult to master articulation. "I - yes, yes, I definitely will - "

"Sorry to interrupt," Draco said regretfully, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder. "But it seems we'll have to switch back - dinner, you know - "

"Right," she said, almost relieved. She felt it was imperative that she put some distance between herself and Kingsley before she began hyperventilating with elation. "Thank you, Kingsley, thank you so much - "

"A pleasure," he rumbled, giving her a brief nod. "Get me that CV first thing."

"I will," she said breathlessly, and as she stepped in front of Draco a second time, she felt him pat her on the back.

"Sounds like that went well," he whispered, leaning towards her. "Is that his business card?"

" _Yes_ ," she said emphatically. "I can't believe it, he thinks there's a job for me - "

His grey eyes were dancing. "I knew it," he said pompously. "I _knew_ he'd love you."

"Thank you," she managed, her breath catching as she locked eyes with him. "Really, I can't thank you enough - "

"I've done nothing," he insisted. "I am just the conduit." He grinned. "However dashing a conduit I may be."

She made a face at him, but her response was cut short by the woman who took a seat on her left.

"Rita Skeeter," the woman said, extending her hand formally. "You are?"

"Hermione Granger," she replied quickly. "And this is Draco Malfoy," she added, gesturing to him, and he politely nodded to the woman.

"Such a pleasure," Rita said musically. "I'm so relieved to be sitting next to you two. You know, these things can be so dreadfully boring. And you are _such_ a stunning couple."

"Oh," Hermione replied. "Oh no, we're not together - "

"Oh?" Rita replied. "Hmm," she said, quickly losing interest.

"Sorry," Hermione said guiltily, turning back to Draco. "I don't know why everyone thinks that."

He shrugged. "Why would you be sorry?" he asked pointedly. "You should be insulted. Who am I, compared to the brightest mind of our generation?"

She shoved him playfully. "Stop," she said, unable to prevent a smile.

* * *

The next day, she stayed at the office until well after everyone else had left. It was her own fault, really. She hadn't been able to concentrate on her work, due largely to the vacant buzzing that had overtaken her brain for the first half of the day. She wasn't much of a drinker, and the handful of glasses of wine she'd had with Draco at the previous night's dinner had really done her in.

She heard her phone buzz and sighed wearily, eyeing the screen.

 _When will you be home?_

Ron.

 _Don't know. Stuck at work._

 _Bummer._

She sighed again, louder, close to throwing her phone as it vibrated a third time. Had she not _just said_ -

Oh. She saw Draco's name and felt a flutter of excitement in her chest.

 _Are you free this weekend? Astoria's having a party and I thought you and Ron might want to join. Feel free to bring anyone you'd like. Though I should warn you, these things are terrible._

She smiled.

 _What a ringing endorsement_.

 _Ah, you're right. They're not to be missed, I should have said. Or rather, it would be a shame if you missed it._

Was he flirting with her? Surely not.

 _We can be there, I think. Will it be okay if I bring a couple of friends? I think you'd really like Harry and Ginny. I've mentioned them before_.

 _The more the merrier, Granger._

She felt a strange, inexplicable chill run up her spine at that, though she suppressed it quickly when he sent a follow-up message.

 _Plans for the evening?_

Ugh. Just a date with her computer monitor, it seemed.

 _Still at work, unfortunately. Had a rough go of it this morning._

 _No! That wouldn't have been my fault, would it?_

 _Yes. Look what you've done, you monster._

 _No, no. This won't do. This won't do at all. Where's your office?_

She blinked in confusion.

 _Santa Monica. Why?_

 _Perfect, I'm in the area. Let me make it up to you._

 _Oh, you don't have to do anything!_

 _Nonsense. At least let me feed you._

He arrived perhaps half an hour later, his arms full.

"Hi," he said breathlessly. "I didn't know what you would like - I picked up, um - " he looked down. "Flatbread pizza, a kale salad, and a risotto." He looked up. "And a donut."

She gaped at him. "Where did you find all of those things?" she asked.

"Well, let's just agree not to tell anyone that I already procured the donut," he said, smirking slightly. "The rest is Milo and Olive."

"I want to insist that you shouldn't have," Hermione said regretfully, "but I'm starving, so I accept this very unnecessary gesture." She opened the door and motioned inside. "Care to join me?"

"Oh," he said, startled. "I - I don't mean to keep you."

"I have to eat anyway," she said pointedly. "And as you've brought enough food for us to have a small dinner party - "

He smiled hesitantly. "Fair," he agreed. "I suppose I did go a bit overboard. But I really didn't want to be wrong about what you like."

"I like everything," she said smoothly. "Well. Not kale."

He laughed. "It's a staple for Astoria," he said, shrugging. "Can't say I care for it, personally."

She pulled a chair up to her desk and sat him down. "No kale for me," she said firmly. "Pizza, on the other hand, I will gladly accept." He offered it to her, and she paused. "And I will also take that donut off your hands."

He chuckled. "Kind of you."

About ten minutes later, her phone buzzed again and she very nearly missed it, caught up as she was in a story Draco was telling about a particularly memorable day on set of the _Alexander Chronicles_. He had become rather animated, and she found she didn't want to be interrupted, pausing only to read the name on the screen.

It was Ron. She hesitated, but slipped the phone in her purse.

She'd be home soon. He could wait.

* * *

"I have to say, this is new for me," Harry commented, sipping the craft beer Draco had handed him earlier. He and Hermione sat in the shade on the rooftop terrace of Draco and Astoria's airy, spacious condo, which had a spectacular view of the Venice Beach pier. "Didn't think I'd ever find myself at a celebrity's house on a Saturday afternoon."

"It's nice though, isn't it?" Hermione asked, letting the crisp sweetness of the sangria that was apparently Astoria's specialty linger on her tongue as she watched Draco from afar. He looked rather bored and anxious, talking to someone Hermione vaguely recognized from somewhere - she thought he might be another actor, though she wasn't sure - while Ginny and Astoria were chatting nearby, having taken to each other at once. Astoria's decorative touch was prominent throughout the entirety of their home, and Ginny, who had just begun renovating the home she'd recently bought with Harry, was rather enthralled by the design secrets the other woman had to offer. Hermione, who could not be less interested in such things, had had an easy enough time convincing Harry to slip away.

"I feel a little out of place," Harry admitted. "But Draco and Astoria seem nice enough, considering."

"This could be good for you, Harry," Hermione urged. "Draco is very well connected; I'm sure there's people here you could talk to about your company - "

"Nah," Harry said, shrugging. "I'd rather just have a drink and relax, I think."

Hermione felt Draco's eyes on her and she looked up, catching his tentative smile. She held up her glass, silently toasting him, and he mimicked the clinking of their glasses, inclining his head. She giggled in spite of herself.

"Spending a lot of time with him lately?" Harry asked, catching the interaction.

"I wouldn't say a _lot_ ," she ventured innocently, though to her horror, she couldn't seem to stop smiling. "I've seen him a couple of times, yes."

"A couple of times is kind of a lot, considering you met him a week ago," Harry commented.

She turned to look at him, giving him an impertinent glare that he was intimately familiar with at this point in their friendship. "Yes?" she asked primly, waiting for him to make his point. "Out with it, Harry."

"Nothing." He shrugged, and she glared at him. "What! Okay, I - I guess I'm just wondering whether you might have a little crush on him." He eyed her curiously, waiting for her reaction. "I mean, Hermione, come on. Before Draco you hadn't wanted to spend any time with anyone but Ginny, Ron, and me for the last, I don't know, seven _years_ \- "

"I don't have a crush on him, Harry, really. That's ridiculous. And _such_ a juvenile suggestion," she said haughtily, becoming defensive in her embarrassment. "I'm with Ron, and I'd like to think I've got a bit more sense than that - "

"There's nothing wrong with a little crush," Harry said, giving her an irritating smirk. "As long as that's all it is."

"He's - he's _helpful_ , okay?" she said, exasperated. "I mean, thanks to him I might get a job offer from Kingsley Shacklebolt, and I don't know if you've noticed, but that is kind of a big deal."

"Of course," Harry agreed, tipping his head back to finish off his beer. He had the faintest trace of an obnoxiously omniscient grin on his face. "And you've only been seeing Draco in a professional context, of course."

"Well, yes," she insisted, though she knew that the couple of hours they'd spent alone in her office was only "professional" in the very loosest sense of the word - that is, only in the sense that it had taken place in her workplace. "It hardly feels like real life, being with him. It's so . . . " she paused, thinking. "It's so foreign."

Harry laughed. "Why, because he's British?"

"No," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "It's just kind of fascinating, being with him. Being around him."

Harry lifted a single brow curiously. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She sighed wistfully. "I think I just like the version of me that I get to pretend to be when he's around, you know?"

"Pretend to be?"

"Yeah. He treats me like I'm this brilliant, fascinating person, and to be honest, I'm happy to let him think that."

The look on Harry's face seemed sad, somehow. "Hermione," he said, his tone very serious, "you _are_ a brilliant and fascinating person. You're not pretending."

She shrugged. "Well it _feels_ like pretending," she said gruffly. "I can't possibly be as interesting as he thinks I am. And anyway," she added. "I'm sure the novelty will wear off for him soon, and then I probably won't see him as much."

Harry opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted as Ron flopped down beside him.

"You'll never believe who I ran into on my way to the bathroom," he trumpeted. "Cedric Diggory! The Olympic athlete! Can you believe that?"

"No," Hermione said, feigning interest. "How interesting."

Draco turned in her general direction, stiffly greeting a new arrival; he certainly knew how to play host, though he didn't appear to enjoy it very much. Ron put an arm around her and she looked down quickly, tucking herself against his chest. Ron, meanwhile, continued to chatter happily to Harry about his own celebrity run-in, while Hermione desperately fought the urge to look up again.

 _It's not a crush_ , she thought fervently, scolding herself. _You're Hermione Granger, professional person and reasonable human being. You're an adult, and you're in a healthy, committed, adult relationship. This is not real life. This is not a crush._

She glanced up through her lashes, feeling a swift blow to her chest as she unexpectedly met the full impact of his stormy grey eyes on her.

 _Oh god_ , she thought frantically. _Please tell me this is not a crush._

* * *

Her phone buzzed on her desk.

 _Coffee at lunch today?_

Harry.

She started to type a response, but was interrupted by another incoming message.

 _Got yet another new script and it's promising, but I'm not totally certain how I feel about it - could I borrow you for a few minutes during your lunch break?_

She hesitated.

 _Sorry, Harry! Can't today - too much work. Tomorrow. I promise._

* * *

"Thanks for looking over that script with me the other day," Draco said, sipping his coffee.

"No problem," she said casually, stirring a bit of cream into her own. "Though as I've said before, I don't have any legitimacy in the world of script selection."

He shrugged. "You're the smartest person I know," he said bluntly, as though this was an inarguable fact. "I trust your judgment."

"I'm not totally sure that's wise," she told him, replacing the lid on her cup and turning toward the door. "You ready?"

"Sure," he said, gesturing her forward. "And don't argue with me, Granger."

Something about her last name on his lips drove her slightly insane.

"Excuse me, are you Draco Malfoy?"

A hesitant group of teenagers approached him, unabashedly looking about as starstruck as Hermione herself had felt upon meeting him. She found she couldn't blame them; he _was_ considerably better looking in person, which, while difficult to fathom, was indisputable fact.

"I am," he said kindly, though without any measurable enthusiasm.

The bravest girl, a diminutive blonde in a rather short skirt, stepped forward. "Would you mind taking a picture with us?" she asked hopefully.

"Sure," he agreed, moving so mechanically to join them in a pose that Hermione could only assume it was muscle memory at this point.

"Can you take it?" the blonde asked, handing Hermione her phone.

"Um, of course," Hermione agreed, fumbling with her coffee cup. "Smile."

Once the picture was taken, the five girls squealed a bit about how much they loved Draco, and he listened and nodded but quickly looked up, seeking out Hermione.

"So nice meeting you all," he said patiently. "But I hope you don't mind - "

"You're a super cute couple," one of the teens said, her eyes very closely resembling the heart eyes emoji that Hermione never used.

Hermione was caught off guard. "Oh, we're not - "

"Yes, yes, thank you," Draco interrupted, ushering her out with a hand on her lower back. "Lovely to meet you all - have a wonderful day!"

* * *

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _Thank you so much for sending over your resume a few weeks ago. My board has had the opportunity to deliberate regarding your qualifications and we are in complete agreement that you would be the perfect fit to help develop and lead my new global initiative for the promotion of international human rights._

 _One thing we did not discuss was the location of the position. I'm not sure you're aware, but most of my companies and projects are based in London, and in addition to relocation, this position in particular would require a fair amount of travel throughout the year. I do not know what your long term plans are, or whether you are willing to relocate, but I hope you will consider the possibilities of accepting the offer that my board will send over in the next few days. I see great promise in you, Hermione, and I hope that you will consider this an investment in your future. You are one of the good ones. I hope you do everything you can to make a difference in this world._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Kingsley Shacklebolt_

Hermione's heart stopped as she read the email.

Move to London? Oh god. What would that mean for her and Ron? On the one hand, she'd always wanted to travel; she considered herself to be a wanderer at heart, and it was in her nature to embrace a challenge. And the position - it should be offered to a person with twice her experience, possibly more - certainly not to her. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

But Ron would never want to move, would he? And if that were the case, would she willing to put up with a long distance relationship? The thought alone was off-putting. Did those even work?

She pulled out her phone.

 _I need to talk to you._

She drummed her fingers on the desk, waiting for a response. No - this was stupid. She should just wait until she got home. Obviously she needed to have this conversation with -

 _I'm coming. I'll bring coffee._

She sighed.

 _Make it wine._

The response was immediate.

 _You got it, Granger._

* * *

"You've got to take that job," Draco insisted, filling her glass well past a level considered socially acceptable for a weekday evening.

"That's enough!" she exclaimed, trying to pull the glass out of his reach.

"Is it?" he asked skeptically, the bottle still hovering mid-pour. "Is it _really_?"

She frowned. "Fine," she grumbled, shoving the glass in front of him. "A little more."

He was happy to oblige. "Seriously, you can't turn down an opportunity like this."

"But . . . I can't ask Ron to give up his life," she said sadly, bringing her excessively full glass to her lips and taking a rather unladylike gulp. "He loves his job, he loves the school, and the team, and I - I mean, I'm satisfied with my job - "

"Hermione." The way he said her name was firm, commanding. "You realize that you are extraordinary, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't go as far as - "

"Listen. I'm not going to say that this is your only shot because chances are, it's not. You're brilliant, and people are bound to notice. People will _always_ notice," he said adamantly, "and this is probably just the first of many tremendous opportunities for you."

She sighed. "So you don't think I should take it?"

"What? No!" Draco exclaimed loudly. "No, no, I _do_ think you should take it - I'm saying this is the first opportunity and you should seize it, and see where it takes you!"

"But - "

"You wouldn't work there forever," he added. "You could get another offer that takes you back here, if this is where you want to be - "

"I'm - I'm honestly not sure if this really is where I want to be," she admitted, finally reaching the core of the issue. "I love it here, of course, but the idea of staying here, forever, of already knowing what the rest of my life is going to look like - "

"Terrifying, isn't it?" he asked, his eyes searing into her soul and reading her innermost fears like a book. "Deciding right now what the rest of your life will look like is terrifying. As it should be."

"Yes," she said, sighing heavily. "But I do love my life here - with Ron, of course, and Harry and Ginny are here - and - and I don't know!" She took another sizable sip of her wine, setting the glass down roughly. "What if I don't even _like_ London?"

He laughed a little at that. "Have another drink, Granger," he said, gesturing to her glass. She was quick to comply, savoring the feel of it on her tongue. "Listen, I might be able to help you with that, if you're really worried you won't like London."

"Yeah?" she asked, distractedly fingering the stem of her wine glass.

"I have to go for a film premiere next week," he explained. "I was only going to go for the evening but if you'd like to join me, maybe we can make a trip of it." He poured a little more wine in her glass, finishing up the bottle. "I have a tux fitting tomorrow, you can stop by for a dress, and then I can show you around London."

"Seriously?" she asked, her eyes wide. "You want me to come with you to a movie premiere?"

"Only if you want to," he told her, as though he didn't particularly mind either way. "Astoria can't come, which is why I wasn't going to stay long. But considering the circumstances - you could meet with Kingsley, have a chat with the board - "

Was this a terrible idea? Because it felt like an _amazing_ idea. It was either the most brilliant idea she'd ever had, or the wine had gone straight to her head.

"Did you say I could do a dress fitting?" she asked, doing a bit of a double-take. "Like, for a red carpet dress?"

"Yes," Draco said, clearly entertained. "I have a rather good relationship with Tom Ford - I'm sure I could get something last minute, though I could call around to see who's available, if you'd prefer another designer."

"Tom Ford?" she squeaked, hiccuping slightly. "You mean I could end up in _US Weekly_ as part of a 'who wore it better' spread?"

He grinned, clearly appreciating the state she was in. "I guess so? I don't know. Is that a good thing?"

"Challenge accepted," she declared, and he laughed.

"Perfect," he said, nodding. "Plan on it, then."

He reached for her glass and his fingers brushed hers ever so carefully. Had it been intentional?

 _Yes._

She put her hand on his knee, something inside her roaring in anticipation as she watched him swallow with difficulty.

"It's a date," she said coolly, and neither of them moved.

* * *

 **a/n:** yes, yes, it's an AU, it's a little OOC, I just hope you're having fun with it. This chapter is for you, TonyaB! Thanks for being such a fan of the story.

Next week - _Part IV: She Cleans Up Nicely_.


	4. Part IV: She Cleans Up Nicely

**a/n:** smut warning.

 _Part IV: She Cleans Up Nicely_

* * *

" _I can't believe you're doing this to me."_

" _It's not a big deal, Ron, we're just friends, and he's just going to show me around - "_

" _No. Not that."_

" _Then what?"_

" _I can't believe you're actually considering taking this job."_

" _You can't be serious."_

" _I'm dead serious, Mione."_

" _Ron. Come on. Don't you see what a huge opportunity this is for me?"_

" _This is Los Angeles, Mione, not - I don't know - Arkansas or something. It's not like we're in the middle of nowhere! You're acting like no other opportunity will ever come along again!"_

" _I'm not looking for just any opportunity, Ron! This is a job with Kingsley goddamn Shacklebolt, don't you understand what a big deal that is for me?"_

" _What's wrong with your job now? I don't understand why you are practically running out the door - "_

" _I'm not running out the door, that's ridiculous! I just want to go and give it a try - can't I at least explore the option?"_

" _And what if you like it, Mione, hm? What then?"_

" _Well . . . I don't know! Can't we just talk about it?"_

" _Mione. I have always been very clear with you about what I want in life."_

" _I know you have, but - "_

" _No, listen. I've always told you I want a family, right? I've always said I wanted to be a teacher, and settle down. And I want to do that here."_

" _We're so young still, Ron, we can still have that life, but maybe we can just do something different for a couple of years - "_

" _A couple of years? Are you joking? You say that like 'a couple of years' is nothing - "_

" _Well it's not nothing, obviously, but it's hardly a life sentence - "_

" _Why would you think I would want that, Mione? Why would you even consider this job? Were you even thinking about me at all?"_

" _I thought you might be proud of me! Silly me, I thought you might want what's best for me!"_

" _Why am I obligated to think that this is what's best for you? What if what's best for you is the life you suddenly managed to forget that we've been planning together for the last five years?"_

" _I didn't realize that was such an ironclad commitment, Ron - "_

" _Look, I don't know what's going on with you. Really, I don't. The Mione I know was happy with me, happy with the life we had - "_

" _I'm not unhappy! I just don't want to believe this is all I'm ever going to do with my life!"_

" _What do you mean 'this is all'? What's wrong with your life, Mione? When did this life become not enough for you?"_

" _It's not - "_

" _Am I not enough for you anymore, Mione? Is that what you're saying?"_

" _No! No, Ron, not at all! I just - I didn't think you would be this rigid about it - "_

" _I, unlike you, have not changed my priorities. I haven't changed my mind about what I want for my life."_

" _This is crazy, Ron, you're reading way too much into this, it's just one trip - "_

" _Yeah, for now. But I feel like I barely know you right now! Who is this, this new Hermione who all of a sudden wants to move to London for this - I don't know, this big, stuffy political career? I've never heard you say you wanted anything like that before - "_

" _Things change, Ron! Things come up! Just because I didn't think it was a possibility before doesn't mean that it isn't something I might want now!"_

" _Well then maybe that's the problem. Maybe you need to spend a little more time thinking about what it is that you want."_

" _Ron."_

" _What?"_

" _Ron, what does that mean?"_

" _It means - fuck it, Mione. Go to London. Do whatever you want. Make up your mind because either you want this life with me, or you want something else entirely, and I don't want to be part of it."_

" _Ron - Ron, slow down. What do you mean you don't want to be part of it - "_

" _I meant what I said."_

" _But - "_

" _I can't talk about this right now, Mione."_

" _Ron!"_

" _Just - go on your trip, okay? I'll stay with Harry and Ginny until you decide."_

" _Ron! Ron, you can't just - "_

But he was already gone.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked, handing her a cup of coffee as he sat beside her in the airport.

"Yeah," she sighed, snapping back to reality as she took the cup from him. "I'm fine."

"You're lying," he commented, shrugging as he demurely lowered his eyes. "But I am a gentleman, and therefore, I do not pry."

She looked over at him, smiling at his mock coquettishness. "I'm fine," she repeated, more confident this time as she met his comforting gaze. "I'm excited for the trip."

"Me too," he agreed, nodding. "Not the flight, though. Christ. I'll never get used to it."

"I haven't been on a flight this long since my obligatory post-grad trip to Europe," she said, laughing at the thought. "I haven't sat still that long in ages." She hummed to herself, thinking. "Maybe I should get a magazine or something."

She moved to rise from the chair and his hand abruptly shot out, preventing her from leaving.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly, his cheeks ever so slightly flushed. He seemed startled by his own instinctive reaction. "But - that's not strictly necessary, is it?"

She fell back against her seat, eyeing him skeptically. "You don't think so?" she asked, brow furrowed. "Why? Are _you_ going to entertain me for ten straight hours?"

"Do you have any doubt that I can?" he huffed, feigning insult. "My goodness, Granger. How dare you. How _dare_ you."

"Okay!" she exclaimed, laughing. "My deepest apologies. I shall look only to you for entertainment over the course of this flight. I hope you're ready for it." She placed her chin in her hands daintily, opening her eyes wide and tilting her head to stare at him. "This is what you have to look forward to for the whole flight."

"Dear god, what a view," he proclaimed, grinning. His grey eyes were dancing.

She found it difficult to look away.

* * *

"So," he said, setting her luggage down on the landing. "This is home. Sometimes, anyway. Kitchen is back there, living room and dining room here. Bedrooms are upstairs."

"13 Grimmauld Place," she said, nodding as she made a note of the address. "Interesting. You'd think if they were to skip a number, it would be unlucky thirteen."

"Strangely, no," he agreed. "Twelve is missing. I've never known why."

"Huh," she commented, shrugging. "Upstairs, you said?"

"Yeah." He gestured her forward. "Head on up."

It was a decently large townhouse. Unassuming on the outside, and somewhat sparse on the inside.

"Do you spend much time here?" she asked, looking around. It seemed like he had recently moved; there were a number of items in boxes, looking as though they'd been shipped and then amassed in the space.

"Not really," he muttered, moving a large box out of the base of the stairwell. "Sorry. This stuff isn't supposed to be here."

"No, it's fine," she told him, still looking around. "I'd prefer to stay here than a hotel."

"Same," he agreed, nodding. "I was relieved you wouldn't mind. Hotels are nice, of course, but as someone who travels a lot, home is much more comfortable."

"Sure," she said, sympathizing.

It was a rather comfortable home, despite its unfinished feel. She was able to see now just how distinct Astoria's taste was from his; the Venice condo had been expertly decorated, every piece of furniture chosen for its personality, but Draco's townhouse seemed limited to function. Minimalistic furniture. Neutral walls. No photographs; a couple of art pieces, but very little whimsy.

No nonsense.

"Here," he said, opening a door on the right. "This is the guest room."

The room contained a queen-sized bed, a set of dressers, and an attached bath, but very little else.

"This is nice," she commented, looking around. "Very airy."

"That's one way to say it's completely unfurnished," he said, chuckling. "I'll get you sheets and towels," he added, glancing into the hall at what she assumed must have been a linen closet.

"Is that all?" she asked, tilting her head to give him a mischievous smirk. "Not a very thorough tour guide, are you?"

The way he ran his tongue across his lower lip nearly stopped her heart.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat. "My bedroom's at the end of the hall, if you want to see that." He looked questioningly at her before abruptly melting into a smile. "For research purposes, of course. For science."

"For science," she agreed, the corners of her lips twisting up into a tiny grin.

He slung his garment bag over his shoulder and beckoned for her to follow. "Then by all means."

His bedroom was the only room in the house that appeared to be lived in - at least in any noticeable way. He had several bookshelves that were crowded with a variety of titles, haphazardly arranged as though he accessed them frequently. There was a small, vintage drafting desk in the corner, and she could see a variety of papers out, his narrow, linear handwriting evident across numerous typewritten pages. Scripts, she assumed.

"Are these your parents?" she asked, picking up a photo that sat on his dresser.

"Yes," he said, and she shivered as he moved to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at the picture. "The highly esteemed Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."

His mother was gorgeous. Almost unreasonably so. And his father - well. If Draco aged even half as well as his father had, Astoria would be a lucky woman.

"Are you close to them?" she asked.

"My mother, yes," he admitted. "My father - it's a bit tense. I'm afraid I fell a little short of his lofty expectations."

She frowned. "You did?"

"I'm sure he would have preferred I carry on the family business," he said, replacing the frame on his desk. "Acting is quite frivolous in his view."

"And the family business is . . . "

He offered her a wry, forced smile. "Wealth accumulation."

Hermione laughed. "Don't the ends justify the means?" she asked. "I'd hardly call you financially _wanting_ , you know."

"Unfortunately, no," Draco said curtly, and she could see on his face that this had been a source of tension for him. "I think he wishes I'd do something a little more . . . becoming."

"Becoming?" she echoed, brows raised.

He shrugged abruptly, like he was physically shaking off the thought. "Old world British classicism," he summarized drily, flashing her a ' _what can you do?'_ look of weary resignation.

"Mm, too true," she agreed, nudging him with her shoulder while bearing an exaggerated affectation.

He laughed.

She loved the sound.

* * *

"I hope this is okay," he said apologetically, setting the wrapped fish and chips down in front of her. "I should probably be a better host and cook you something, but to be quite honest, I wouldn't know where to start."

"That's okay," she said, laughing. "This feels more authentic, anyway."

"Good," he said triumphantly, smiling as he took a seat across from her. "So how was today?"

"It was amazing," she admitted, her tone somewhat resigned.

He flashed her a mischievous grin. "You don't sound convinced."

"No," she said, straightening. "No, I am, definitely - I loved it. Everything."

"It's all touristy stuff, of course," he said. "I know it can be rather tired - "

"No," she insisted. "I loved it. Really."

He gave her a look of pure skepticism. "If you want me to believe you, you'll have to try a bit harder than that," he said, rising to his feet. "Beer or wine?"

"You choose," she said, picking up a fry.

He squinted at her. "Normally I'd say beer with fish and chips," he commented, tilting his head to look at her. "But something's bothering you, so we're going with wine."

She rolled her eyes as he turned, picking out a bottle. "I'm _fine_."

"Well, sure, but there are so many other things you could be," he said, searching for a corkscrew. "Excellent, perhaps. Excited. Enchanted with both the prospect of calling this city home, and your delightful host - "

"You _are_ delightful," she agreed, and he winked at her as he set down her glass.

"I know." He settled himself in his seat again. "So are you going to tell me what's been bothering you?"

"I - I guess I just feel guilty," she said, wincing as she finally resolved to admit her feelings out loud. "I mean, I'm just - I'm just not sure I'm supposed to be enjoying myself this much."

He frowned. "I never took you for a masochist, Granger," he said bluntly. "As far as I can tell, you're _supposed_ to enjoy life."

"I know," she said, laughing nervously. "And I am." She met his eyes. "I really am."

"Well," he pronounced. "If the issue is that you are enjoying yourself _too_ much, then I am going to consider that a victory for me."

"You should," she agreed, nodding. "Oh - by the way, does wifi work the same way here?"

"Are you asking me if we have a different internet?" he said, grinning.

She laughed. "Kind of, I guess." She winced. "Sorry, stupid question."

"No such thing," he proclaimed, though he seemed suddenly perturbed. "Though I have to wonder, of course, if that means I'm boring you."

"Don't be ridiculous," she chided him. "Not in the slightest. But I _do_ have a job, you know, and I should probably check my email - "

"You're on vacation," he said firmly. "They'll survive, won't they?"

She thought about the way Draco was never distracted by his phone when he was around her, and how he'd been so extraordinarily attentive throughout the entire trip. She'd nearly forgotten what it was like to be with someone who didn't rely so heavily on their access to the world at large. For a celebrity whose social media seemed to amass quite a stir with every post, he didn't seem very active in it.

"You're right," she said, nodding. "I should be more present. Right?"

"I'm not a yogi, Granger," he said, rolling his eyes.

* * *

The dress she'd been given for the film premiere was easily the most stunning thing she'd ever worn. The classic, tailored cut of the red gown was everything she could have dreamt for herself - not that she, ever the bookish type, had done much of said dreaming - and with the help of Draco's stylist, she'd gotten a coveted hair and makeup appointment that left her speechless at her own reflection. Her long bangs were swept elegantly to the side, the low chignon resting sophisticatedly at the base of her neck. Her makeup, too, was glamorous without being overdone.

She was no Pansy Parkinson, and probably no Astoria Greengrass, either, but Hermione Granger certainly didn't look half bad. She nodded at her reflection.

"Good show, old girl," she told herself, putting on an affected British accent.

"I heard that."

"Draco!" She spun on the spot, startled by his voice. "Sorry, how embarrassing - "

"Wow."

He couldn't take his eyes off her, and she knew she was blushing.

"Wow yourself," she said, taking a step towards him and playfully prodding a finger into his chest. "You clean up nicely, Mr. Malfoy."

And he did. The Tom Ford tuxedo was . . . oh, what did she know. She was no fashion critic. Something about nice lines, she thought, eyeing his chest as he adjusted his tie. _Very_ nice lines.

"Likewise," he said, swallowing with difficulty. He took another step toward her.

A step closer than was altogether proper, if she were being honest. Not that she minded. Or felt much inclined to be honest.

Was it hot? It was quite hot.

"You look beautiful," he told her, his lips close to her ear. "Really. Not that I should be surprised, of course. You're always beautiful."

"Oh, stop." She moved to make some kind of fun, lighthearted gesture - a little shove, perhaps, or a light nudge to his arm - but found herself off-balance, tipping forward into his arms.

"Whoa," he said, smiling. "Okay to walk, Granger?"

"Not used to constricting evening gowns," she muttered, gripping his arms for balance.

His hands slipped to her waist.

"No," he agreed. "I sympathize."

"With evening gowns?" she asked, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe as she met his eyes.

He bit his lip. "What?" he asked, dazed.

"You said . . . "

She trailed off. Ten seconds passed. Or five minutes.

"I don't remember," she said, frowning.

He laughed and she exhaled sharply, relieved. "Regardless, you look beautiful."

She rolled her eyes. "You said that already."

"Well," he said, leaning forward to brush his lips against her cheek. "I meant it twice."

She leaned into the gesture, sighing contentedly. "This feels so strange," she murmured. "It feels like it's not even my life, somehow."

"Which part?"

"All of it." She smiled wistfully at him. "It almost feels like I can be someone else for tonight. Show up with a fake name and a fake life and just . . . not have to think about anything. You know?"

"You can do that," he told her, taking her hands in his. "Who do you want to be tonight?"

"Hm." She tilted her head thoughtfully, trying on names in her head. "I can be anyone?"

"Anyone," he said, nodding. "Anyone you want."

"Well," she hummed, pursing her lips as she considered the vast array of possibilities. "What's a good name for someone who is cultured and successful - a little mysterious, maybe," she ventured, cocking her head. "Alarmingly attractive, of course - and just wildly enthralling, overall?"

"Easy," he said, smoothing his hair back as he grinned and offered her his arm. "Hermione Granger."

* * *

There were cameras flashing everywhere.

"Draco - Draco, over here!" "Draco! A word?" "Draco, are the rumors true?"

He put his arm around Hermione's waist and guided her toward the venue.

"Ignore them," he murmured, waving and smiling but swiftly pulling Hermione in his wake. He clearly wasn't interesting in dawdling.

"Smile," he instructed, and then caught himself. "I don't mean to be patronizing," he explained quickly. "But they do _so_ love to print the pictures where you manage to look like a grouch for half a second, so try to keep smiling."

"It's not that hard," she admitted, her cheeks already warm. They'd opened up a bottle of champagne in the town car on the way over, and it had done her nerves a world of good. "This is exciting."

"These can get old after a while," he said, his lips close to her ear. "Not this time, of course."

"No?" she asked, turning to smile at him.

A camera flashed, capturing the moment.

"That'll be a good one," he told her, smirking. "And no, this event feels somehow entirely new and different."

"Why is that?" she prompted, fighting back a light-headed giggle as he drew his arm around her waist for the picture.

He gave her a mischievous grin. "The caterer."

She laughed. A thousand shutters snapped.

"Shouldn't you be explaining why you're not with Astoria?" she asked him as they progressed inside. "Won't they be needing an explanation for the headline 'Draco Malfoy and gal pal' attend premiere?"

"I'd be happy to, if they ask," he said, angling her gently toward the next set of cameras. "But the truth is that I'm a washed up child star, and nobody's paying any attention to me."

Hermione snuck a glance at Pansy Parkinson, whose dark eyes were lingering suggestively on the cut of Draco's tux from her position a few feet away.

"If you say so," Hermione said softly, enjoying the chill that flew up her spine as his hand settled between her exposed shoulder blades.

* * *

She couldn't take her eyes off his hands.

They sat invitingly in his lap throughout the premiere, which was masterful. The film was about - well, nevermind what it was about.

"Masterful," she said, nodding somberly to everyone who asked, nearly sighing with relief every time she felt Draco's hand return to her back, turning her every so often to introduce her to some other actor or producer or writer.

"A pleasure," she'd say, watching Draco's proffered hand as he casually shook with a colleague.

"How was the film?" they'd ask, and she'd smile.

"Masterful," she'd say, eyeing Draco's fingers where they curled around the stem of his champagne glass.

"And how do you two know each other?"

The question never got tiresome.

"Oh, we're soulmates," Draco said, grinning before he launched into the explanation. "California palm readers, you know, the usual - "

Always the tone of amusement, of course, whether he told the story or not. He was dashing and Hermione was charming and fun. She dazzled and delighted.

This was her fake life, and she reveled in it.

"Afterparties are interesting," she commented, taking a sip of her drink and watching as his hand traveled from her knee to the upper part of her thigh as he leaned back, gesturing to the server. Most of the celebrities from the premiere had changed into alternate outfits and were now mingling with considerably less concern for the cameras, which were conspicuously absent.

"Another?" he asked, gesturing to her nearly empty glass as he reached to take one for himself.

She was sorry to see his hand go.

"I'm fine, I think," she said, her head already a bit fuzzy. "Either I'm getting old, or I'm tapped out for the night."

"Oh no, I'm sorry," he said quickly, vaguely horrified. "I forgot how late these things go - I hope you're not totally miserable - "

"I'm not," she said quickly, putting her hand on his arm. "Relax. I'm having a wonderful time."

"Well I don't want to keep you out too late," he said, setting his glass down and coming to his feet. "Come on," he urged, holding out a hand for her. "You have your tour with Shacklebolt's board tomorrow. I want you functional, Granger."

She laughed, taking his hand. "Yes, sir."

She didn't need to be at that party anyway. She had no interest in speaking to anyone else but him, and Draco was just as engaging in the car - or in his house, or on the street, or hell, probably even in a public restroom or a mausoleum - as he was at the party.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling. She felt beautiful. She felt vivid.

She was life in technicolor.

"I had such an amazing time tonight," she said, pausing in the doorframe as he walked her up the stairs and to the door of her room. His tie was loose around his neck, his top buttons were unbuttoned, and his jacket was draped loosely over her shoulders. "You really know how to show a girl a good time."

"Was I peak Draco?" he asked, flashing her an impish smile.

"Peak Draco," she confirmed, nodding vigorously. "Was I peak Hermione?"

"Always," he told her, smiling for a moment before leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Goodnight."

He lingered. He'd been doing that lately, and the cheek kissing, also. His hand was on her waist and she let her fingers slide down, encircling his wrist.

"Goodnight," she whispered, moving to return the gesture.

Her lips pressed lightly to the calculated scruff that lined his cheek and she could smell him, the scent of cologne and aftershave mixing with wine, whiskey, and the topnotes of that clean laundry smell that she loved. The one that she associated with the person that he was, underneath the glamor and the fame and the tux.

 _Underneath the tux._

Her hands were on his hips.

He didn't pull away, and neither did she. Their cheeks were touching and their eyes were closed.

"This doesn't feel real," she murmured, and she felt him swallow with difficulty.

"Maybe it's not," he suggested, his breath tickling her ear.

"Maybe not," she agreed.

He brought his hand up to the nape of her neck. "Did you enjoy your fake life tonight?"

 _What's wrong with your life, Mione? When did this life become not enough for you?_

Shut up, Ron.

"I don't know if I'm ready to be done with my fake life," she told him, more honest than she'd intended.

"Then don't be." He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes dark and intense. "What do you want?"

She felt her stomach flip.

"You know what I want," she whispered, forcing herself not to look away.

The words left his throat in a hungry growl. "I know what you want," he agreed, tangling his fingers in her hair and pressing his lips to hers.

She gasped, feeling an urgency building in the base of her abdomen as she returned his kiss with equal fervor. He tasted like -

Like -

Analogies failed her and she closed her eyes, yanking his chest against hers.

"Wait," he said, blinking with difficulty as he pulled away. "Wait - are you - are you sure - "

"I'm sure," she said, crashing her lips to his. "Draco, I'm sure."

"But - " he tried to speak between kisses. "You've - been drinking. And Ron - "

"Fuck Ron," she hissed, throwing his jacket from her shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt. "Over."

"Thank fucking Christ," Draco sighed, his breath catching as she yanked his shirt lapel from the waistband of his pants.

"Dress," she said, gasping as she turned. "Zipper - "

"I've got it." He tried to pull the zipper down but she was fidgeting, and it got caught.

"Draco - "

There was a loud rip and she gasped, the fabric suddenly loosening around her waist. "Draco!"

"I'll pay for it," he said offhandedly, smothering her lips with his and wrapping his arms around her ribcage, physically lifting her out of the gown and tossing her back onto the bed.

She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to her, running her hand across the crevices of his abs.

"Wait," he said, panting. "Not here."

"What?" she said hazily, sitting up on her elbows. "Why - "

"My room." He pushed her knees apart and crouched in front of her to pick her up by the waist, kissing her neck. "Bigger bed," he explained, hissing through his teeth as she wrapped her legs around his hips and settled herself over his unapologetic erection.

"Go there," she said hurriedly, whimpering as his fingers slipped over the lace of her underwear.

He struggled down the hall, periodically shoving her against the walls and kissing her, grabbing her hair and licking her throat and teasing her with his breath against her nipples, sliding his fingers underneath her to hover at her entrance, making her moan.

" _Go_ ," she breathed, using his hair to yank his head back and force him to look at her.

"Bossy, Granger," he said, grinning. "I like it."

He pushed open the door to his bedroom and threw her effortlessly onto the bed, pressing her flat against it and sliding his hand down her stomach as he knelt between her legs. His lips against her inner thighs were intoxicating and she felt time come to a crashing halt the moment his tongue slipped against the thin fabric of her underwear, letting his breath linger over _that spot_.

She couldn't remember the last time someone had done this for her. Her heart was pounding as he hooked his fingers on either side of her panties, lifting her hips so that he could slide them down over her knees.

He traced the inside of her thigh lightly with his finger as he brought it to her opening, letting it circle her entrance. Testing her.

"I want you," he said, and she let out a shaky sigh.

"Draco," she started, wondering how she could possibly force her brain to form words, but he slipped his finger inside her and she gasped, promptly abandoning the effort. He tapped lightly against her and she let out a whimper, feeling herself contract around him.

He slid another finger into her and rotated them, almost frustratingly cavalier with the way she writhed on the bed, her legs starting to shake. He removed his hand and dragged his fingers up, sliding them around her clit as she fought back another intense moan.

" _Draco - "_

He pushed his fingers back to her entrance and brought his face between her thighs, letting his tongue slide along her clit as he continued working her with his hands.

His _hands_. Those unbelievable hands.

He sucked lightly around her clit and she felt herself explode around him, contracting her hips upwards as she gasped.

"Come here," she panted, reaching down to yank him towards her and he fell against her, laughing, kissing her ear and reaching one hand behind her to unsnap her bra, throwing it carelessly off the edge of the bed.

She fumbled with the zipper of his pants and slid them over his arse and down his thighs, using her foot to shove them to his ankles. He turned on his side, leaving her only long enough to kick them off and wriggle out of his boxer briefs, pulling her against him and kissing her back and shoulders.

"You're beautiful," he said in her ear, raising her up with her back to him, the curve of her arse pressing into him. His hands slid down the flat of her stomach to her clit and she sighed with pleasure, reaching behind her to take his full, smooth length in her hand.

She angled him at her entrance and he nudged her thighs apart with his knee, slipping into her as he kept his fingers on either side of her clit, thrusting into her as he sank his teeth into her shoulder.

She turned her head towards him and kissed him, gripping his left hand where he fervently pulled her face over her shoulder toward his, enjoying the feel of his tongue sliding deftly along hers until she came again, choking out a sigh as she shuddered against his chest.

He gave her a moment, his hand still pressed against her, before pulling out and flipping her onto her back, reentering her in a single thrust and pressing his forehead to hers. She lifted her hips to allow him to drive in further and he came with a strangled groan, his lips pressing against her neck.

They stayed that way for several minutes, both trying to catch their breath.

"Do you think you can make your fake life last until morning?" he asked, his lips near her ear.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, closing her eyes.

* * *

 **a/n:** for you, susiequeen300.

Next week - _Part V: You Only Live Once_ , and brief epilogue.


	5. Part V: You Only Live Once

_Part V: You Only Live Once_

* * *

She opened her email and clicked on the first message.

 _Ginny thought you might find this interesting. You look great! See you soon - Harry_

It was a link to a fashion site - no wonder Harry made a point to say Ginny had found it - and appeared to have been a live blog of the red carpet premiere from the night before. It was a picture of Hermione with Draco, a snapshot of them laughing, captioned only _"Draco Malfoy wearing Tom Ford."_

She was about to click out of the image when she noticed the long string of comments below.

" _I screamed when I saw Draco Malfoy was finally single! Tell me he doesn't already have a new girlfriend!"_

" _Omg, I totally ship these two together."_

" _Who is this? Does anyone know?"_

" _Can't believe he broke up with Astoria!"_

Hermione's heart thudded in her chest as she quickly opened a new tab, shakily typing the words _Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass breakup_ into her browser search bar _._

The results were instant and astounding.

 _Sources close to the couple are reporting that Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass have called it quits after six years together._

Hermione hastily checked the date. The article was from three days before they'd left for London.

 _The couple, originally from London, has shared a home in Venice Beach, California for the last three years. Rumor has it the split was amicable, and that Astoria continues to reside in their Venice beach house._

Hermione looked around the living room, eyeing the numerous boxes that lined the walls and blocked portions of the hallway. She recalled his irritation at seeing them upon their arrival; why hadn't he said anything?

She clicked on a different article, jittery from her search.

 _So long, Astoria! Draco Malfoy spotted with unknown female friend at London red carpet premiere._

"You're up."

She glanced up at the sound of his voice, rattled. "You startled me," she managed, clutching her collarbone as she frantically shut her laptop.

He was leaning against the doorframe, his hair still wickedly tousled from the night before. He seemed to know something was wrong, though he didn't immediately address it.

"Coffee?"

"Yes please," she said hesitantly, biting her lip as she glanced down at her laptop. "But - Draco - "

"I've been foiled by the internet, I assume," he said tightly. "Give me a minute to think about what I want to say, would you?" He stepped into the hallway, looking dazed. "I'll come back with coffee."

She nodded. It was probably best that she also consider what to say. Not that anything was coming to her.

She'd woken up that morning with only the vague recollection that there even _was_ an Astoria Greengrass. Draco did such a masterful job of convincing Hermione that she was the only thing in his universe that she'd essentially forgotten that that wasn't actually the case. So then, should she be relieved by the outcome of the situation? Or supremely guilty, for not having known?

 _He'd_ at least asked about Ron. She'd said nothing of Astoria.

And _Ron_. She certainly had felt it was over at the time, but it was hard to feel anything in Draco's presence other than the appeal of Draco himself. Had she actually thought it through?

Was she even thinking _now_? It was hard to concentrate. Every momentary blink took her back to an image of herself. Of Draco. Of the complete and utter fulfillment she'd found in his arms.

 _All._

 _Night._

 _Long._

He appeared in the doorway and she found herself breathless.

"Hi," she ventured.

He seemed to smile in spite of himself. "Hi."

She took the coffee cup he offered and held it primly in her lap, waiting until he'd settled himself across from her.

"You and Astoria," Hermione started, biting her lip.

"I suppose there was only so long that I could prevent you from finding out," he said, taking a sip from his mug.

She gave him a quizzical look. "Why not just tell me?"

He shrugged. "It seemed too heavy, you know?" he asked, still not quite making eye contact. "I wasn't sure how to tell you I'd broken up with my girlfriend for you without making myself wildly vulnerable."

"For me?" Hermione echoed.

Draco's eyes finally settled on hers. "Obviously."

"But I - "

"Don't make me go soft, Granger," Draco interrupted coolly, taking another sip of his coffee. "You won't like it."

She vigorously fought a broad smile. "What happened?"

"Nothing dramatic," he said casually. "I wouldn't have left for just anything - or just _anyone_ , as it were - but things have been over for Astoria and me for quite some time." He took another sip. "I care about her deeply, but our lives were always headed in different directions."

"I like her," Hermione said faintly, feeling the need to comment.

"She likes you," Draco replied easily. "As do I."

He moved to sit beside her, his hand resting comfortably on her knee. It felt natural. _So_ natural, in fact, she wondered for a moment how her knee had gotten by until now without it.

"I wasn't totally honest with you," Hermione told him, fiddling with her hair.

"About Ron?"

"Yes." She sighed. "We fought - he walked out on me, telling me that I needed to decide what I wanted, and if it was this job, then he didn't want any part of it - "

Draco scowled. "And?"

"And that's where I left it," Hermione concluded regretfully.

"Well," Draco asked, vacantly lacing her fingers between his. "Is it over?"

She looked at his hand in hers and felt a renewed thudding in her chest.

"I think so," she decided, waiting a moment. "It's hard to tell. Last night was - " she inhaled sharply as she looked into his grey eyes, remembering every detail. "Last night was perfect."

She watched the muscle strain around his jaw. "And?" he prompted drily. "I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"It was perfect, but was it real?" she asked, searching his eyes for the truth she so desperately needed. "I mean, I kept calling it my fake life - "

He shrugged. "An adorable misnomer, I think - "

"But real relationships aren't like that," she reminded him, interrupting. "It's not just trips and glamor and playing house and - " She faltered.

"Amazing sex," he supplied.

"Yes," she agreed, nodding vehemently. " _Amazing_ sex."

"Is that what you think we are?" he asked her, his brow furrowed. "Trips and playing house, I mean. Is that what you think this is?"

She thought about the way he took care of her, the way he listened to her stories and encouraged her ambitions. She thought about the way he'd become the person she wanted to have the tough conversations with, to get the motivational pick-me-ups from. She thought about how he looked to her for advice and how she felt inclined to give it, because she felt like a part of his life. Because somehow, between the psychic and the dinner and all the wine - god, _all_ the wine - and their night together, he'd made room for her in his life.

"No," she admitted. "But I think that's a recent revelation."

"You need time," he offered, eyeing her. "Is that it?"

"I'd just hate to be wrong about whatever it is that I really want," she said slowly. "I'm not totally sure if that makes sense to you - "

"What do you want right now?" he asked, taking the untouched coffee mug from her hand and setting it on the table. "Not tomorrow. Not even in the next hour." He pulled her into him, her chest brushing against his. "Right now."

"Draco," she said warningly. "Shouldn't we - "

"I'll get you to your board meeting and then I'll give you a very cool, very gentlemanly goodbye," he said, leaning forward to speak directly into her ear. "I'll put you on a plane and I'll tell you I'll wait to hear from you."

She shivered at his fingers on her spine. "And then?"

"And then I'll wait," he said, nipping at her ear and shifting to slide her leg around him. "I'll wait until you're ready."

"Are you sure?"

"You're my soulmate, Granger," he reminded her, positioning her over him on the couch until she straddled him where she sat. "I take these things very seriously."

It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying; though, in truth, his words were just as dizzying as the placement of his hands.

"Ask me again what I want right now," she suggested, letting her head loll back as he began kissing her neck.

"No need," he told her, biting lightly on her clavicle before slipping her sweater off her shoulders. "I already know."

* * *

 _ **You've reached Hermione Granger. Please leave a message after the tone. Thanks!**_

 _Hey Mione, it's Ron. Listen, I wasn't totally fair before, and - okay, well, this isn't the time or place, but look, I know you're on the plane right now, and I just can't help feeling like you should really take that job. I think it's what you want, and I don't want to make this harder for you. I also don't want to be that asshole who handles a breakup over the phone so call me, would you? As soon as you land. But I'm going to move my stuff out of the apartment now, okay? I don't want to make this hard. Harder, anyway. I don't want to make it harder. Just - call me. Call me as soon as you land. I'll be . . . I don't know where I'll be. Just call._

* * *

 _ **You've reached Hermione Granger. Please leave a message after the tone. Thanks!**_

 _Hermione, it's Harry - I've just seen Ron, he said you talked - are you okay? Call me, text me, whatever. I'm here._

* * *

 _ **You've reached Hermione Granger. Please leave a message after the tone. Thanks!**_

 _Hi Hermione, this is Lee Jordan calling you back about a potential start date - we received your employment contract this morning and are so excited to have you on board! I know you and the board discussed taking a month or so to transition from your previous job to your role here, but let's just finalize that when you get a chance so that we're all clear on the details. Clarity is king, you know. Very, very pleased that you've decided to take the offer. You're a perfect fit, and we couldn't be happier to have you. Give me a call back when you can! Thanks so much._

* * *

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I hope you don't find it too alarming that I've decided to contact you. Truly, I hope that we can continue to be friends despite everything that's happened. I know you were always much more inclined to spend time with Draco than with me, but I do think so highly of you as a person, and hope you feel the same way._

 _I'm certain you'll find this strange, me contacting you out of the blue, but the truth is, I needed a moment to satisfy my ego a bit. I know it sounds silly, but I'd like to give you my blessing, in a way. With Draco, that is. I'm not sure what he's told you - and he's certainly shared very little with me, truth be told - but I want you to know that the romantic chapter between Draco and me had been closed for some time. I think we both wanted to pretend that he hadn't changed, but once you came along, there was really no denying it. The Draco Malfoy I fell in love with was an actor and happy with his choice. The Draco Malfoy that has fallen in love with you - well. He's a bit out to sea, isn't he? But I think you're good for him. He wants more from life, and much more from a relationship than I am willing to give him. I'm afraid I'm looking for a much more predictable life than whatever he has in mind. I like my comforts, as I'm sure you're aware!_

 _A hearty congratulations on your new job, by the way. I really do think that you are wonderful, Hermione, and I want such good things for you and Draco. Separately, of course, but together, also. Should you decide that's in your future._

 _It is, after all, in your cards._

 _Always,_

 _Astoria_

* * *

"So you decided to take the job?" Harry asked, sitting himself at a table in the sun.

"Yes," Hermione said, joining him. "It really is such a good opportunity, and the timing . . . " She trailed off. "The timing couldn't be better."

"I'm sorry it had to happen this way with Ron," Harry said glumly.

"Better now than years from now, don't you think?" Hermione asked, sipping her iced tea. "Probably best that we found out now that I wasn't quite cut out for the life he wanted."

"You think so?"

"It's what I'm telling myself," Hermione said firmly. "And anyway, I enjoy being a version of myself with a lot more options," she added. "Fear wasn't helping, and with Ron, there would always have been fear."

"You sound very self-aware," Harry commented, eyeing her.

She shrugged. "I've had a week to myself to mull it over," she admitted. "I think the self-imposed solitary confinement was a good choice for me."

"So it's a yes on the job," Harry said. "And Draco?"

Hermione gave him a look. "Are we gossiping now?"

"Don't pretend like you don't want to talk about it," Harry warned. "I know you better than that, Hermione Jean Granger."

"Should I be worried, do you think?" she started, wondering how to proceed. "Should I be concerned at all, that all the time I was with him, I considered it not to be entirely . . . real?"

"Depends." Harry picked up his glass, taking a swig of water.

"It felt a lot like pretense," Hermione confessed. "We always joked about the soulmates thing, and I always knew I couldn't do anything, because of Ron - but now - "

"Are you feeling burdened by your freedom?" Harry asked, grinning.

"More like I'm burdened by the option of my fake life," she mumbled, stirring her tea with her straw.

"Hermione. You've got to stop saying that," Harry chided her. "You only get _one_ life, Hermione, and this is it."

She sighed loudly. "I know that, obviously - "

"Do you?" Harry asked. "If _that_ life is fake, how many other lives do you think you get?"

"Okay, now you're being deliberately obtuse," she admonished him, frowning. "I obviously know the moral here - "

"I'm not trying to impress any morals upon you," Harry corrected her. "I'm just trying to understand. I mean, what is it that excites you that makes you think it's fake? The parties? The cameras?"

Her mind leapt instantly to Draco's face, to the bow of his lips.

"No."

"He's a person too, you know," Harry commented thoughtfully. "You can't hold his fame against him."

She laughed a little at that. "Funny how you always put things in perspective."

He shrugged. "A gift."

"I don't even know where he is right now," Hermione admitted softly. "He looked at a script for a film here, you know, so he might take it, and I'll be in London - "

"They have these cellular devices now," Harry drawled. "Amazing technology, really, you press a button and a person's whereabouts become revealed to you - "

"Okay, smart ass," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "That's enough from you."

"He didn't take the part," Harry said, taking a sip of his drink. "He's in London."

"What?" Hermione asked, rocketing forward in her seat. "How do you know?"

"Astoria and Ginny have gotten quite close," Harry said, making a face. "She's been over twice this week - something about looking over the kitchen backsplash, whatever that is."

Hermione laughed. "She is pretty great, isn't she?"

"She is," Harry agreed. "It's too bad her boyfriend fell in love with the greatest person I know."

"I think I'm a little in love with the me that Draco fell in love with too, honestly," Hermione said. " _That_ Hermione is - " she smiled in spite of herself. "Peak Hermione."

"That's who you are," Harry reminded her sternly. "You aren't pretending, and nothing about it is fake. You _are_ that person, and for some reason, you're the only one who can't see it."

"Well, I don't know if that's entirely fair - "

"Don't argue with me," Harry said airily. "I reserve the right to the final word."

Hermione smiled regretfully, reaching out to touch Harry's hand. "I'm going to miss you, you know."

"I know," Harry told her. "And really, who could blame you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said. "We're having a moment."

He squeezed her hand. "I know."

* * *

She fidgeted in the doorway, wondering if she should have called first.

This was more romantic, right?

 _Right?_

Oh god, he wasn't home. What if he wasn't home? God damn it. Fuck. Fuck, fuck -

The door opened.

"Hi," she said breathlessly.

He was - once again - visibly fighting a smile. "May I help you?"

"Yes, actually," she said, shifting her weight anxiously from foot to foot. "I wondered if you might have a spare room."

"Coincidentally, I do," Draco said, pursing his lips. "But I'm not sure you'll want it. The rent is exorbitant."

She laughed. "I suppose I could try down the street - "

"Well, unless you'd like to stay in _my_ room," Draco suggested. "If that's the case, I'd be happy to give you a tour."

She tried to think of something charming to say, but failed.

"I missed you," she blurted out suddenly, looking down at her shoes.

He stepped forward, lifting her chin with his finger and looking intently at her, his eyes voraciously scanning her face like he'd been longing to see it. To memorize it. "In your fake life, or your real one?"

"I only have one life, Draco," she told him firmly, feeling her heart pound in her ears. "Though if I had more than one, I think I'd miss you in all of them."

"God, Granger," he growled, yanking her into his arms. "That was quite a line."

"Did it work?" she asked, letting her fingers travel from his hair to his ears and down the curve of his jaw to his lips.

"Get inside this house before I bend you over these steps," he retorted hungrily in answer, and she yelped in surprise, laughing as he pulled her through the doorway and brought his lips to hers.

* * *

"I don't actually need to live here," she said, running her fingers across his bare chest. "That was just a clever ploy to get you naked."

"Good thing you pulled that," he murmured. "As otherwise, I'm notoriously difficult to bed."

She looked up, smiling at him. "Oh really?"

"High standards," he sniffed, though he pulled her against him and kissed her thoroughly.

"You didn't take the part for the script you had me read," she commented when they broke apart. "I thought you liked it?"

"I did, but I was thinking of maybe trying something behind the camera," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe I can do a documentary on something. Something meaningful." He shrugged. "Funding would be easy enough to get."

"International human rights, perhaps?" she proposed, looking up at him. "I could find some decent material."

"I bet you could," he agreed, chuckling.

She ran her finger down his stomach, watching in fascination as he inhaled sharply at her touch.

He was real, wasn't he? And he had chosen her.

And she had chosen him.

"Do you think this was fate?" she asked. "Can we _really_ keep belittling the whole soulmate prediction now that all of this has happened?"

"We can do whatever we want, Granger," Draco said lazily, tracing patterns on her shoulder. "For as long as you want to."

She closed her eyes, smiling against his skin.

 _Good_ , she thought vigorously.

Psychic be damned. She'd already decided on forever.

* * *

 ** _FIN_**

* * *

 **a/n:** this chapter is for MoonNott. Thanks to everyone for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


	6. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

* * *

Sybill Trelawney opened her news app on her iPhone and yawned, not looking forward to another day on the Venice Boardwalk. Really, the whole thing was quite tiresome, though ultimately, a full day of mindless palm readings really added up. Her manicure was still fresh and she scrolled carefully, her nails tapping against the screen.

She paused at an image that looked somehow familiar.

 _ **Draco Malfoy to wed Hermione Granger, political activist**_

 _Former actor turned filmmaker Draco Malfoy is said to have proposed to girlfriend Hermione Granger after two years of blissful courtship, a source reports. Granger, an outspoken supporter of international human rights, and Malfoy, who recently earned rave reviews and a coveted prize from the Sundance Film Festival for his work chronicling the lives of three refugees in London, announced via their respective PR sources that they are happily engaged and are looking forward to a very bright future._

" _They couldn't be happier," says a close female friend. "They've both come a long way professionally over the last couple of years and it makes them that much prouder that they are able to say they did it together."_

 _The couple, who famously met following a psychic prediction that listed Granger as Malfoy's "soulmate," are expected to wed quietly later this year._

Sybill smiled to herself, remembering the events that had led to this moment. She had seen the girl, Granger, walking impatiently down the boardwalk, clearly uncomfortable with what appeared to be her heinously oblivious boyfriend and his maddeningly dull parents, and in her boredom, Sybill had sketched out her image, making a note of the monogram on the girl's camel-colored crossbody. Once Malfoy had come along - Sybill had _of course_ known who he was, and taken note of the conspicuous lack of chemistry between himself and his very charming - _too_ charming, perhaps - girlfriend, she'd known precisely what to do with the unfinished drawing. It had been a gamble, she knew, but she had a feeling, and Sybill had learned to trust such feelings.

After all, they did look so good together, didn't they?

She tucked her phone away as someone took a seat, offering her their palm.

"Hmm," Sybill said whimsically, making a silent note of the girl's engagement ring. "I see a happy event in your future . . . a wedding, perhaps . . . "


End file.
